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164 

PRINCE  SARONI'S  WIFE, 

-  AND  - 

THE  PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE. 

BY  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 

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PRINCE  SARONI'S  WIFE 


AND 


THE  PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE 


BY 

JULIAN    HAWTHORNE 

AUTHOR  OF  "ARCHIBALD  MALMAIS'ON,"   "DUST,"   "GARTH,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


FUNK   &   WAGNALLS 

NEW  YORK  1884  LONDON 

10  AND  12  DET  STREET  44  FLEET 

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Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1834,  by 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  0. 


PEIWCE    SABCXNrS  WIFE. 


PRINCE  SAKOKTS  WIFE. 


I. 


THE  prince,  when  1  first  had  the  honor  of  knowing 
him,  was  a  young  man  of  about  twenty-seven  or  eight  ; 
a  thorough  Italian  in  nature  and  aspect,  though  he  spoke 
correct  English,  and  was  accustomed  to  foreign  manners 
and  men.  His  face,  when  you  examined  it,  was  unde 
niably  handsome  ;  but  the  type  was  so  different  from 
our  Anglo-Saxon  traditions  of  masculine  beauty,  that  1 
fancy  he  usually  produced  the  impression  of  something 
Irizarre  and  noticeable,  rather  than  of  classic  comeliness, 
on  the  ordinary  beholder.  I  recollect  his  being  pre 
sented,  on  one  occasion,  to  one  of  the  reigning  beauties 
of  the  London  season,  a  young  lady  who  was  certainly 
not  deficient  in  familiarity  with  the  ways  and  looks  of 
the  average  male  social  animal  ;  but  she  turned  pale  as 
her  eyes  fell  upon  him,  responded  to  his  courteous  ad 
vances  incoherently  and  with  manifest  nervousness,  and, 
within  a  few  minutes,  began  to  laugh  hysterically,  and 
had  to  be  taken  to  her  carriage.  So  far  as  I  have  ever 
been  able  to  find  out,  the  poor  prince  was  not  in  the 
least  to  blame,  and  he  was  unquestionably  not  a  little 
distressed  by  the  incident.  But  Mrs.  Ful  via,  whenever 
his  name  was  mentioned  to  her  afterward,  would  shudder 
and  turn  away  her  lovely  head.  "  He  is  hideous  !"  she 

M51S243 


6  PRINCE    SARONVS    WIFE. 

would  exclaim  ;  "  I  felt  as  if  1  were  being  drawn  into 
the  power  of  a  demon  !  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  his  eyes 
left  a  black  mark  upon  me  !"  Saronfs  eyes  were  cer 
tainly  very  black,  and  so  was  his  short,  erect  hair,  which 
had  a  crisp  curl  through  it,  that  inspired  some  one  to  say 
that  it  looked  as  if  his  head  were  encompassed  with 
black  flames.  Black,  also,  and  wiry  was  his  untrimmed 
but  not  overgrown  beard,  which  came  down  to  a  point 
below  the  chin,  owing,  perhaps,  to  his  fondness  for  lay 
ing  hold  of  it  and  letting  it  slip  through  his  hand.  His 
complexion  was  dark,  but  not  sallow  ;  there  were  life 
and  blood  beneath  it.  On  his  temple,  beneath  the  skin, 
a  peculiar  vein  was  discernible  ;  it  lay  in  such  curves  as 
a  serpent  makes  in  swimming  rapidly  through  the  water. 
When  the  prince  was  in  a  serene  mood,  this  strange  little 
vein  was  scarcely  seen  ;  but  as  soon  as  he  became  ex 
cited,  or  laughed,  it  started  into  prominence  ;  and  if  the 
testimony  of  Mrs.  Fulvia  is  to  be  believed,  actually 
wriggled  !  I  mention  these  things  merely  to  give  what 
color  I  can  to  Saroni's  portrait  ;  it  would  be  vain  to 
attempt  to  describe  a  man  like  him  by  the  dry  enumera 
tion  of  physical  details.  He  was  lithe,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  leisurely,  in  his  movements,  though  his  gesticula 
tion  was  sometimes  rapid  and  full  of  the  picturesque 
suggestiveness  natural  to  an  Italian.  "  Saroni  is  as 
natural  as  a  dog,"  a  friend  of  his  once  said  of  him  ;  and 
the  phrase  expressed  very  well  a  certain  innocent  anima 
tion  that  characterized  him.  He  was  in  such  thorough 
good-humor  with  his  body  and  its  senses— he  so  enjoyed 
their  services  and  companionship — and  he  uniformly 
alluded  to  that  enjoyment  with  such  ingenuous  simplicity 
—that  we  sometimes  found  ourselves  wondering  how  it 
was  that  we  had  forgotten  to  be  scandalized.  But  the 
fact  is,  Saroni  was  what  is  termed  a  privileged  person— 


privileged  by  nature  even  more  than  by  rank  and  poei- 
tion.  Everybody  liked  him,  except  the  few  who  (like 
Mrs.  Fulvia)  conceived  an  aversion  for  him  at  first  sight, 
and  everybody  was  content  that  he  should  behave  like 
himself  and  not  like  other  people.  Of  course,  it  must 
not  be  inferred  that  Saroni  was  a  boor  or  a  fool.  He 
was  an  aristocrat  and  a  gentleman  ;  his  social  position 
was  impregnable  ;  he  was  never  awkward  and  never 
dull.  Nevertheless,  underneath  that  refined  surface,  not 
interfering  with  it,  but  contriving  to  exist  in  apparent 
harmony  with  it,  you  might  always  discern  the  uncon 
ventional,  unsophisticated,  spontaneous  animal  ;  thor 
oughly  at  home  and  at  ease  in  its  human  cage,  and  able 
to  gratify  all  its  instincts,  without  so  much  as  rubbing 
against  the  bars. 

But  perhaps  I  am  giving  undue  prominence  to  an 
aspect  of  Saroni' s  character  which  was  not  in  reality  the 
predominant  one.  He  came  to  London  as  an  attache  of 
the  Italian  Embassy  ;  it  was  a  post  rather  of  honor  than 
of  emolument  or  diplomatic  complexity  ;  and  to  Saroni 
it  meant,  practically,  little  more  than  an  introduction, 
under  the  best  auspices,  to  the  best  London  society.  He 
availed  himself  of  his  opportunities,  and  pleased  himself 
immensely  with  everything.  The  amount  of  downright 
hard  work  he  could  accomplish  in  the  course  of  a  London 
season  was  surprising  ;  nothing  could  make  him  feel 
Hase  or  dull  the  poignancy  of  his  satisfactions.  It  was 
a  curious  spectacle  — that  of  a  man  essentially  so  close  to 
the  primitive  creature,  expanding  himself  without  stint 
in  one  of  the  most  stolidly  artificial  societies  in  the 
world.  But  Saroni  always  seemed  less  to  accommodate 
himself  to  circumstances  than  to  accommodate  them  to 
himself.  I  apprehend,  also,  that  the  germ  at  least  of 
what  was  so  luxuriant  in  him  was  present  in  much  more 


8  PRINCE   SAKOia'S   WIFE. 

conventional  people  ;  so  that  he  may  have  found,  in 
secret  or  intuitive  sympathy,  all  the  response  that  was 
necessary  to  his  spiritual  composure. 

There  was  in  Saroni,  apart  from  his  social  and  emo 
tional  self,  a  subtle  and  sagacious  intellect.  He  some 
times  darted  a  look  so  penetrating  and  comprehensive 
that — but  for  the  laughing  roguishness  of  expression  that 
accompanied  it — you  would  have  felt  uncomfortably 
transparent.  He  was  capable  of  rapid  and  complicated 
mental  operations  ;  of  making  instant  but  acute  esti 
mates  of  motive  and  character  ;  of  taking  bold  and  con 
fident  action  on  data  which  would  only  have  made  a  man 
less  finely  organized  hesitate.  He  also  possessed  the 
power  of  continuous  attention,  insomuch  that  he  could 
think  out  an  abstruse  subject,  hour  in  and  hour  out,  until 
he  had  completely  resolved  it.  I  fancied — nor  was  I 
alone  in  my  opinion — that  Saroni  would  have  been  on  all 
accounts  the  better  if  he  had  lacked  this  vigorous  intel 
lectual  gift.  It  was  the  only  trait  about  him  that  did 
not  seem  entirely  amiable.  Were  so  unlikely  a  thing 
ever  to  happen  as  that  the  prince  should  do  anything 
wicked,  evidently  the  evil  counsel  would  proceed  from 
his  brain  and  not  from  his  heart.  To  do  him  justice, 
however,  he  seldom  obtruded  his  brains  upon  anybody  ; 
and  one  might  have  been  acquainted  with  him  a  long 
time  without  ever  being  startled  or  inconvenienced  by 
them. 

This  is  all  that  it  is  worth  while  to  say,  at  present, 
about  the  personal  manifestation  of  Prince  Saroni.  He 
was  a  zealous  and,  upon  the  whole,  rather  successful 
gambler  ;  but  that  was  only  what  was  to  be  expected 
from  a  man  of  his  make. 


II. 


ONE  evening  in  August  Prince  Saroni  walked  from 
his  lodgings  near  Piccadilly  to  Waterloo  Station,  and 
took  the  train  thence  to  Richmond.  He  got  out  there, 
passed  through  the  town,  crossed  the  bridge,  and  pro 
ceeded  in  a  south-westerly  direction  for  about  half  a 
mile. 

It  was  a  still,  hazy  evening,  and  the  moon  was  rising. 
From  a  church  in  the  town  a  clock  struck  nine.  Saroni 
turned  aside  from  the  road  along  which  he  was  walking, 
and  followed  a  long  narrow  lane,  overshadowed  on  each 
side  by  short  elm  trees.  In  about  two  minutes  he 
paused  opposite  a  gate,  beyond  which  an  avenue  led  up 
to  a  small  villa.  He  sat  down  on  a  stone  post  beside  the 
gate,  took  out  his  cigarette-case  and  lit  a  cigarette,  and 
then,  folding  his  arms,  he  gazed  at  the  dim  moon,  and 
smoked.  After  a  while  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked 
eagerly  over  the  gate  up  the  avenue.  A  darkly-clad 
figure  came  with  a  light  step  over  the  gravel,  and  having 
passed  through  the  gate,  turned  to  him,  and  put  both. 
hands  in  his.  He  drew  the  figure  toward  him,  threw  his 
arms  round  it,  and  kissed  it  on  both  cheeks  and  on  the 
mouth. 

"  Do  you  love  me  as  much  as  ever?"  asked  a  low 


womans  voce. 

" 


As  ever?  I  love  you  ten  times!  Are  you  not 
Ethel  and  I  am  Saroni  ?" 

"  There  are  many  Ethels  in  London  more  lovable 
than  V 

11  I  do  not  know  them.      They  perhaps  are  lovable  by 


10  PRINCE    SARONl'S    WIFE. 

others,  but  not  by  me.  I  find  all  myself  in  yon.  "When 
I  am  with  you,  then,  only,  I  am  not  alone  !" 

The  girl  rested  her  hands  on  his  shoulders,  and  looked 
intently  into  his  eyes.  As  revealed  by  the  moonlight, 
her  countenance  showed  a  type  of  beauty  at  once  serious 
and  spirited.  There  was  power  in  her  dark  level  brow 
and  in  the  meeting  of  her  full  but  resolute  lips.  Her 
face  was  rather  long,  and  nearly  colorless.  Her  dark 
hair  was  drawn  back  from  her  forehead  and  massed  in  a 
coil  behind.  So  far,  the  expression  of  the  features  was 
of  gravity  and  steadfastness  ;  but  in  the  wide  and  sensi 
tive  nostrils,  in  a  certain  kindling  and  dilatation  of  the 
eyes,  and  in  an  occasional  defiant  movement  of  the  cor 
ners  of  the  mouth,  was  discernible  a  haughty  and  pas 
sionate  spirit.  Her  figure  was  of  the  middle  height, 
deep-bosomed,  round-armed,  and  justly  proportioned. 
She  was  a  woman  worth  loving,  and  being  loved  by  ; 
but  the  man  who  should  venture  to  wrong  her  might 
make  up  his  mind  to  nothing  less  than  tragedy. 

"I  am  a  fool  to  be  here,"  she  said,  dropping  her 
hands,  "  and  a  great  fool  to  love  you  as  I  do.  Can  you 
tell  me  what  makes  me  do  it  ?" 

"  I  have  never  thought,"  answered  Saroni,  caressing 
her  arms,  and  meeting  her  gaze  smilingly.  "  It  is  glori 
ous  to  love  !  I  have  always  not  known  what  I  was 
meant  to  do  ;  but  I  saw  you,  and  I  knew  I  was  meant 
to  love  you.  It  makes  me  happy  and  strong  here  !"  he 
struck  his  breast  and  smiled  again.  "  It  is  the  fools  who 
do  not  love." 

"  Have  you  loved  any  one  before  me  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  so,  perhaps,"  said  Saroni,  musingly. 
"  But  only  you  have  made  me  go  out  from  myself  ;  and 
the  more  I  go  out,  the  stronger  I  am  to  go.  1  love  you 
forever  !" 


PHIXCE    SARONl'S    WIFE.  11 

u  Come  down  the  lane  a  little,"  said  the  girl.  "  My 
father  thinks  I  am  in  my  room.  Yes,  I  am  a  fool,  but  I 
don't  care.  I  have  tried  wisdom,  and  find  no  pleasure 
in  it.  i  suppose  1  need  to  be  foolish  in  order  to  be 
happy.  The  world  has  gone  hard  with  me  always.  No 
matter  !  I  don't  care  now  !" 

She  uttered  the  last  word  with  infinite  tenderness. 
They  were  walking  slowly  down  the  dark  lane  ;  Saroni's 
arm  was  flung  about  her  shoulders.  She  stopped,  slowly 
disengaged  herself,  and  faced  him.  "  You  have  taken 
me  beyond  my  own  help,"  she  said,  with  a  tremor  in 
her  voice.  u  Oh,  this  love  !  it  makes  me  helpless.  1 
would  do  or  be  anything  in  the  world  for  you.  1  don't 
understand  how  it  can  be  so  with  me.  Father  has  so 
often  told  me  that  I  should  never  care  for  any  one,  that 
I  believed  him.  He  believes  it  still,  I  suppose  !"  She 
laughed  a  little.  "  Even  now  I  tell  myself  you  cannot 
deserve  it  all.  1  don't  believe  you  are  altogether  good. 
For  aught  I  know  you  may  be  all  evil.  But  it  makes  no 
difference.  1  should  love  you  just  the  same — 1  should 
love  your  wickedness.  Father  is  a  good  man,  and  I 
don't  love  him.  What  are  his  books  and  his  sermons  to 
me?  1  didn't  make  good  and  evil,  and  why  should  I 
order  my  love  according  to  another's  rule  ?  If  I  choose, 
evil  may  be  my  good — it  is  a  question  of  words.  Well, 
you  see  what  a  fool  I  am  !" 

Saroni  could  do  characteristically  many  things  which 
would  have  seemed  extravagant  in  another.  He  knelt 
on  the  pathway  at  Ethel's  feet,  took  her  hands,  and 
pressed  them  against  his  cheeks. 

u  You  are  my  Madonna  !"  he  said,  passionately.  "  1 
gay  my  prayers  to  you.  1  have  no  heaven  above  you. 
You  step  on  my  heart  ;  you  live  in  my  soul  !  To  touch 
you  makes  me  a  king  ;  to  kiss  you  makes  me  immortal  ! 


12  PRIKCE    SARONI'S   WIFE. 

If  you  are  thirsty,  drink  my  blood  !  1  do  not  find  it 
dark  when  you  are  with  me,  for  then  the  eyes  of  love 
open.  Darling,  give  me  your  lips  !" 

She  stooped,  sighing  with  delight. 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  and,  emerging  from  the 
lane,  crossed  the  road  and  the  meadow  beyond,  and  came 
to  the  brink  of  the  river. 

"  Here  is  where  we  first  met,"  said  Ethel.  "  That  is 
the  snag  on  which  your  boat  upset  ;  and  you  floundered 
ashore  where  1  was  standing.  What  a  wet,  wild  creature 
you  looked,  and  how  you  laughed  !  What  a  little  while 
ago  that  was—  not  more  than  six  weeks.  And  I  have 
seen  you  .  .  .  eight  times  since  then.  Eight  hours — 
can  they  change  one's  whole  long,  weary  life  !" 

"  So  does  death  change  all,"  said  Saroni,  musingly. 

"Yes,  it  is  like  death,"  assented  she  ;  "and,  like 
death,  it  opens  a  new  life,  to  be  passed  in  heaven — or— 
will  it  be  heaven  for  us,  I  wonder  ?" 

"I  fear  nothing;  1  am  content!"  said  the  Italian, 
gazing  into  the  dark  stream  with  folded  arms.  "  Love 
would  be  love,  even  in  hell  !" 

"  But  how  will  our  love  end  ?"  pursued  the  girl,  pass 
ing  her  arm  beneath  his,  and  leaning  her  head  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  How — end  ?"  demanded  Saroni,  quickly. 

"  When  it  becomes  misery  ;  when  we  are  parted. 
We  shall  be  parted.  1  am  a  poor  dissenting  minister's 
daughter.  You  are  a  prince,  and  a  Catholic.  You  can 
not  marry  me." 

"  1  did  not  make  myself  ;  but  I  became  your  lover, " 
&aid  Saroni ;  "  and  whatever  I  am  beside,  1  lay  at  your 
dear  feet.  We  are  man  and  wroman,  and  so  we  are  mar 
ried  ;  and  if  a  priest  were  to  marry  me  to  any  other 
woman,  you  only  would  still  be  my  wife,  and  not  she." 


PRINCE   SAROXI'S    WIFE.  13 

"  Are  you  asking  me  to  be  your  mistress  ?"  inquired 
Ethel,  in  a  very  quiet  tone. 

"  No  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  vigorous  gesture  of  aver 
sion.  "  You  are — " 

"  "Wait  a  moment.  1  love  you  with  all  my  heart  ;  it 
is  the  only  thing  my  heart  has  ever  done.  If  you  and  I 
were  equals — if  you  had  no  more  to  lose  before  the  world 
than  I  have — I  would  come  to  you  freely  ;  I  should 
want  no  security  greater  than  your  love,  for  none  would 
he  worth  anything  to  me,  if  that  were  gone.  Oh,  that 
would  be  sweet  !" 

She  murmured  these  last  words  abstractedly,  pressing 
her  cheek  against  his  shoulder.  He  looked  down  at  her, 
clutching  his  beard  in  his  hand.  He  saw  that  she  was  in 
a  mood  of  exalted  emotion,  and  he  knew  enough  of  her 
to  know  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  what  she  might  do 
next. 

At  first,  she  did  not  -seem  to  intend  saying  anything 
more.  She  lingered  over  her  last  thoughts,  as  though 
loath  to  deal  with  others.  But  at  length,  freeing  herself 
from  the  Italian,  and  standing  alone  upon  the  margin  of 
the  river,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face  and  said  : 

"  But  do  not  make  me  jealous  !" 

Saroni  gave  a  short,  remonstrative  laugh,  throwing 
out  his  arms  and  slanting  his  head  to  one  side. 

"  You  could  be  jealous  only  of  yourself,"  he  ex 
claimed. 

"  Not  only  to  love  no  one  else,"  continued  Ethel, 
breathing  faster.  "  The  touch  of  another  woman's 
hand  on  yours  would  be  poison  to  me.  I  don't  build 
my  honor,  like  other  women,  on  a  ceremony  or  a  dogma. 
To  be  married,  if  the  real  marriage  be  kept  back,  is 
nothing  to  me.  But  I  have  an  honor  of  my  own,  which 
110  one  shall  tamper  with.  I  would  follow  you  on  my 


14  PRINCE    SARONl'S    WIFE. 

knees  round  the  world  ;  but  I  would  rather  see  you 
dead,  and  die  myself,  than  find  you  had  shared  a  word 
or  a  thought  such  as  has  passed  between  us  with  any 
other  woman.  Are  you  true  ?"  she  suddenly  and 
breathlessly  demanded,  stepping  closer  and  gazing  at 
him  through  the  gloom.  "  If  we  mast  ever  part,  let  it 
be  now  !" 

"  Where  would  you  go  ?"  asked  the  Italian. 

"  Home  to  my  father,  and  copy  out  his  sermons,  and 
darn  his  stockings,  and  listen  to  his  scoldings,  and  be  re 
spectable  and  ...  1  would  go  underneath  that  water, 
and  you  should  see  my  drowned  face  all  the  rest  of  your 
life  !"  These  sentences  were  uttered  with  fierce  excite 
ment.  Saroni  watched  her  keenly,  with  that  peculiar 
astute  expression  already  alluded  to.  He  did  not  seem 
discomposed  by  her  words  ;  they  appeared  to  give  him 
pleasure.  He  tossed  back  his  head  and  stamped  his 
foot,  as  if  finally  taking  some  resolution.  Then  he 
grasped  her  hands  and  lifted  them  to  his  lips. 

"  You  are  the  woman  that  I  thought— that  I  need  !" 
he  said,  emphatically.  "  Now  I  know  you  are  as  strong 
and  brave  as  you  are  beautiful  and  lovely.  If  some 
enemy,  some  obstacle  opposed  you,  you  would  crush  it 
or  die.  1,  also,  am  of  that  spirit.  My  right  to  live  as  1 
will  is  as  great  as  the  right  of  the  world  to  prevent  me. 
Now  you  shall  read  in  my  soul.  I  shall  give  up  to  you 
everything.  1  shall  trust  you  in  such  things  that  you 
shall  never  find  it  possible  to  distrust  me  ;  for  it  will 
give  you  power  over  me  as  long  as  you  have  life.  Come 
—listen  !" 

They  turned  away  from  the  river  and  walked  slowly 
back  across  the  meadow.  The  belated  waterman,  who 
had  been  lying  in  his  boat  under  the  shadow  of  the 
bushes,  could  perceive  that  the  foreign  gentleman  was 


PRIXCE   SAROXl'S   WIFE.  15 

talking  rapidly  and  earnestly,  and  that  the  young  lady 
seemed  taken  aback.  And  that  was  the  last  he  saw  of 
them. 

But,  an  hour  later,  Ethel  Moore  was  lying  face  down 
ward  on  her  bed,  her  fingers  clutching  the  pillow,  and  a 
wild  tumult  in  her  heart  ;  and  Prince  Saroni  was  play 
ing  cards  at  the  club,  and  losing  heavily. 


III. 


ABOUT  the  middle  of  August,  when  everybody  was 
well  started  on  their  summer  migration,  it  wras  rumored 
that  Prince  Saroni  was  going  to  be  married.  The  news 
was  considered,  under  the  circumstances,  to  be  a  breach 
of  social  courtesy.  Not  one  of  us  but  would  have  given 
almost  anything  to  see  the  prince's  wedding,  and  to 
mark  whether,  in  so  overpoweringly  conventional  a  pre 
dicament,  he  would  remain  as  distinctively  himself  as  in 
the  less  trying  crises  of  life.  To  add  to  the  bitterness  of 
our  curiosity,  the  lady  in  the  case  was  unknown  in  Lon 
don.  It  was  asserted  that  she  was  stupendously  wealthy  ; 
but  whether  she  were  young  or  old,  lovely  or  hideous, 
black  or  white,  we  were  left  to  conjecture.  To  cap  the 
climax,  it  was  stated  (in  the  Morning  Post]  that  the 
bride  and  bridegroom,  immediately  after  the  ceremony, 
would  leave  for  the  United  States,  where  the  prince  had 
accepted  an  important  diplomatic  mission.  So  we  should 
never  have  our  mystification  cleared  up  at  all. 

It  was  now  that  I  rejoiced,  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life,  that  obstacles  had  prevented  me  from  leaving  Lon- 


16 

don  as  early  as  the  rest  of  the  world  had  done.  I  lost 
no  time  in  repairing  to  the  prince's  house  in  Bruton 
Street,  and  was  lucky  enough  to  find  him  at  home. 

He  was  lying  in  a  recklessly  negligent  attitude  on  his 
sofa,  one  hand  pulling  at  his  beard,  while  with  the 
fingers  of  the  other  he  beat  a  devil's  tattoo  on  the  floor. 
A  sash  of  crimson  silk  was  bound  round  his  waist,  and 
he  had  on  a  loose  jacket  and  waistcoat  of  fine  white 
cashmere,  trimmed  with  broad  gold  braid,  which  brought 
into  splendid  relief  the  Indian  swarthiness  of  his  face. 
He  half  rose  when  he  saw  me,  and  stretched  out  his  left 
hand  (Saroni  could  never  be  got  to  comprehend  the 
social  distinction  between  his  right  hand  and  his  left)  to 
bid  me  welcome.  His  grasp,  without  being  firm,  was 
always  warm  and  cordial.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my 
dear,"  he  said.  "  You  take  off  your  hatj  your  coat. 
You  lie  down  on  the  sofa  vis-d-vis.  The  cigarettes  are 
on  the  table.  Some  punch  is  in  the  silver  jug,  isn't  it  ? 
Now  we  shall  be  at  ease." 

As  soon  as  I  decently  could,  I  began.  "  What 
charming  news  is  this  1  hear,  Saroni  ?  You  going  to 
become  a  Benedict  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  oh,  yes,"  he  returned,  indifferently.  He 
rolled  over  on  his  sofa  so  as  to  face  me,  and  added,  "  I 
shall  be  married  to  her  in  two  weeks." 

"  And  nobody  in  town  to  see  you  turned  off." 

"  Well,  now  I  shall  tell  you  about -it,"  he  exclaimed, 
swinging  himself  to  a  sitting  posture,  and  rubbing  his 
hands  through  his  hair.  u  1  am  tired  of  keeping  so 
much  to  myself.  Will  it  be  tiresome  to  you  ?  Take 
more  punch." 

"  The  punch  is  good,  but  your  story  will  be  better. 
Out  with  it," 

16  I    think    it   is    the   same    as  often   happens,"    said 


17 

Saroni,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  his  shoulders 
up  to  his  ears.  "It  is  an  affair — arranged  !  you  under 
stand.  The  lady  thinks  it  will  be  nice  to  be  a  princess  ; 
arid  I  think — well,  that  I  have  very  badly  played  carda 
this  summer,  that  is  all  !  We  buy  each  other — it  is  that ! 
And  since  she  did  not  make  her  money  any  more  than  1 
make  my  rank,  so  we  both  cost  each  other  nothing,  except 
the  trouble  to  live  together  ;  that  is  all  there  is  of  it  !' '  , 

This  frank  confession  greatly  amused  me,  as  not  only 
comic  in  itself,  but  quite  in  accord  with  Saroni's  unique 
style.  The  social  institution  of  matrimony  must  of 
course,  to  this  primitive  creature,  seem  a  ponderous 
nuisance.  To  a  man  like  him,  love  should  be  nothing 
more  ceremonious  than  the  pairing  of  doves  or  deer  ;  a 
sort  of  annual  excursion,  to  be  repeated  with  variations. 

u  So  I  am  not  sad  if  there  are  not  many  people  in 
church,"  added  Saroni,  getting  up  from  the  sofa  and 
giving  himself  a  thorough  stretching. 

"  Is  the  lady  a  native  of  London  ?" 

"  I  have  never  asked  her.  She  has  been  six  or  seven 
years  in  a  French  convent,  to  make  her  wise  and  charm 
ing.  She  is  twenty-one,  she  has  brown  hair  and  eyes, 
and  a  face  smooth  and  pale.  Her  name  is  Miss  Medwin, 
and  she  has  twenty  thousand  pounds  a  year.  That  is  all 
1  know  of  mademoiselle  my  fiancee." 

"  But,"  1  ventured  to  interpose,  "  you  have  not  told 
me  how  much  you  are  in  love  with  her." 

The  prince  replied,  "  My  dear,  it  is  a  thing  1  do  not 
ask  myself.  It  is  not  of  the  bargain.  How  otherwise  ? 
I  have  seen  her  five  or  six  times,  always  with  signora 
the  mamma  of  the  company.  "We  talk  of  the  weather, 
of  France,  of  Italy  ;  I  make  my  salute,  and  I  depart. 
To  think  of  love  would  be  to  defame  the  proprieties  of 
the  matrimonial  state.  It  is  a  thing  we  pass  over." 


18  PItlXOE    SAROXI'S    WIFE. 

"You  will  come  to  it  afterward,"  I  affirmed,  opti 
mistically. 

Saroni  thrust  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  lounged  up 
and  down  the  room.  After  a  while  he  said,  "  There  is 
one  thing  that  makes  it  unlikely. " 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  I  love  another  lady." 

"  This  will  never  do  !"  1  exclaimed,  with  severity. 

"Eh  !  it  is  done.  It  is  the  fate  of  this  civilization  of 
yours.  It  is  not  enough  you  live  with  the  lady  you  do 
not  love  ;  you  must  also  not  live  with  the  lady  you  do 
love.  If  I  had  not  come  to  know  Miss  Moore,  I  could 
he  comfortable  to  be  dull  with  Miss  Medwin.  You  see, 
I  reserve  nothing  from  you.  Why  should  I  ?  The 
worst  is  that  it  is  so." 

1  i  But  why  not  marry  Miss  Moore  instead  of  Miss 
Medwin?" 

"  My  dear,  there  are  two  things.  Miss  Medwin  has 
the  money  I  told  you  ;  Miss  Moore  has  only  herself — 
who  is  more  precious  than  all  the  gold  in  the  world,  but 
who  cannot  pay  the  debts  I  have  made  since  I  come  to 
live  in  this  charming  London.  The  second  is,  if  1  marry 
any  one  that  is  not  good  Catholic,  my  inheritance  is 
forfeit,  and  my  younger  brother  succeeds  me.  He  is 
good  boy,  but  I  do  not  wish  that.  The  way  is  so." 

"  What  does  Miss  Moore  say  to  all  this?"  I  asked, 
after  some  reflection. 

The  prince  halted  in  his  walk,  and  shook  his  head 
gloomily.  "  To  tell  her  shall  be  the  last  thing.  She  is 
proud  and  fierce,  and  she  loves  me  with  all  her  heart. 
She  has  told  me  once,  <  If  you  deceive  me,  1  go  in  the 
water,  and  my  face  drowned  shall  meet  you  always  !  ' 
That  makes  me  unhappy.  I  think,  sometimes,  it  would 
be  better  I  use  this. ' ' 


PRINCE    SAROXl'S   WIFE.  19 

As  lie  spoke,  lie  took  from  the  table  a  small  silver- 
mounted  pistol,  and  put  the  muzzle  between  his  white 
teeth.  Something  in  his  look  made  me  feel  that  the 
action  was  not  mere  bravado.  This  poor  prince,  with 
his  pleasure-loving,  unsophisticated  nature,  had  got  so 
ensnared  in  our  great  social  cobweb,  as  to  have  seriously 
contemplated  making  away  with  himself.  The  moral 
aspect  of  the  act  had  never  presented  itself  to  him,  his 
creed  being  that  everybody  should  do  what  they  liked, 
and  trust  to  Providence  to  make  it  all  right.  However, 
as  an  older  and  more  worldly  man  than  himself,  I  under 
took — apparently  not  without  some  effect — to  put  things 
before  him  in  their  true  light.  I  also  advised  him  to  tell 
Miss  Moore  frankly  how  he  was  placed,  and  to  appeal  to 
her  good  sense  to  accept  the  inevitable.  But  on  this 
point  I  could  not  get  him  to  see  with  me.  He  would 
not  do  anything  disagreeable  so  long  as  it  could  possibly 
be  avoided.  When,  at  length,  we  parted,  I  was  not 
without  misgivings  as  to  the  upshot  of  the  affair. 

I  called  upon  him  several  times  afterward,  but  failed  to 
find  him  in.  One  day,  however,  I  met  him  coming  out 
of  his  club  on  Pall  Mall,  and,  at  his  request,  I  accom 
panied  him  home.  On  our  arrival  there  he  threw  off  his 
coat  and  hat,  as  his  custom  was,  and  stretched  himself 
out  at  full  length  on  the  hearth-rug.  He  looked  more 
dejected  than  ever. 

"  What  news  since  I  saw  you  last  ?"  1  demanded,  in  a 
cheerful  tone. 

"  She  knows  everything,"  replied  Saroni,  without 
raising  his  eyes. 

"Miss  Moore?" 

He  nodded. 

"  I  am  glad  you  told  her.     How  did  she  take  it  ?" 

"  I  wrote  to  her,"   he  replied,  "  and  this  morning  I 


20  PRINCE   SARONI'S   WIFE. 

got  this  packet. "  He  pointed  to  a  small  parcel  on  the 
table,  folded  up  in  white  paper,  and  addressed  in  a 
female  hand.  It  had  been  opened,  and  then  folded 
again. 

"  The  things  you  had  given  her  ?"  I  said.  He  looked 
at  me  without  speaking.  "  Did  she  send  no  word  ?"  I 
continued. 

"  That  was  all  !"  answered  the  poor  fellow.  "  If  she 
had  hated  me,  she  could  not  have  done  otherwise." 

"  If  she  does  hate  you,  it's  the  best  thing  that  could 
happen.  It's  a  sign  that  she'll  recover,  and  forget  you 
before  you  forget  her." 

"  But  I  don't  want  her  to  forget  me  ;  1  love  her  more 
than  ever  !"  declared  this  incorrigible  young  man. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,"  1  said,  "  you  are  well  out  of 
the  scrape  ;  and  you  and  Miss  Moore  will  both  live  to 
rear  your  respective  families  in  peace  and  respectability." 

"You  are  wise,  but  to  be  wise  is  not  everything," 
rejoined  the  prince.  "  Something  here,"  he  struck  his 
breast,  "  tells  me  it  will  not  end  as  you  think.  Well,  I 
am  not  good  company  to-day,  my  dear.  I  wished  you 
should  know  the  last,  that  is  all  ;  so  now  you  shall  leave 
ine  to  be  disagreeable  to  myself.  A  rivederla!" 

I  accepted  my  dismissal,  expecting  soon  to  see  him 
again.  But,  as  it  turned  out,  that  was  not  to  be.  We 
did  not  meet  until  after  the  ocean  had  been  between  us. 


PRINCE    SARONl'3    WIFE. 


IV. 


A  FEW  days  previous  to  the  date  appointed  for  Sarom's 
wedding,  he  made  his  appearance  at  a  large  house  in 
South  Kensington,  and  was  shown  up-stairs.  After  he 
had  walked  up  and  down  the  parlor  for  five  minutes,  a 
young  lady  came  in,  let  her  hand  rest  in  his  a  moment, 
and  then  seated  herself  in  an  easy  chair  beside  a  huge 
delft  jar  full  of  flowers. 

"  You  are  earlier  than  1  expected,'-  she  said.  "  You 
don't  often  come  too  early." 

Her  face  was  pretty,  though  lacking  in  expression  ; 
but  she  had  a  plaintive  way  of  drawing  her  eyebrows 
together  and  bringing  up  her  lower  lip,  like  a  spoilt 
child.  Her  figure  was  shapely,  and  rather  slender  than 
plump,  and^  she  managed  it  with  grace.  Her  dress  was 
rich,  but  made  with  perfect  art,  and  admirably  adapted 
to  the  wearer. 

'  i  Does  it  please  you  for  me  to  be  early?"  asked 
Saroni,  standing  in  front  of  her,' with  one  hand  resting 
on  the  jar  of  flowers. 

"  That  is  a  strange  question  to  ask  the  girl  who  is  to 
become  your  wife  next  week,"  she  replied,  pouting. 
"  What  do  you  expect  \  1  have  known  no  man  before 
you,  and  1  should  like  to  feel  at  least  acquainted  with 
you  before  I  give  myself  to  you  forever.  Everybody 
was  good  to  me  at  the  convent,  and  did  things  to  please 
me  ;  but  1  dorr  t  know  whether  you'll  be  good  to  me.  1 
don't  know  whether  you'll  make  me  happy.  Mamma  is 
almost  like  a  stranger  to  me,  and  she  is  such  an  invalid 
she  can't  amuse  me  or  go  about  with  me,  I've  been  in 


PRINCE   SAIlOKl'S    WIFE. 

London  six  months,  and  have  seen  nothing  and  met  no 
body  except  you.  Sometimes  I  feel  afraid  of  you." 

Saroni  pulled  his  beard.  u  1  have  not  much  to  give, 
but  what  there  is  you  will  have.  You  will  be  a 
princess. ' ' 

The  girl  opened  and  shut  her  fan,  looked  up  at  him  a 
moment,  and  looked  away.  Almost  inaudibly  she  said, 
"  Yes,  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  ..." 

"  I  have  something  for  you  to  hear,"  exclaimed 
Saroni.  He  plucked  a  cluster  of  white  geranium,  and 
twisted  it  between  his  lingers  as  he  went  on.  "  Perhaps 
I  would  not  be  a  good  husband — how  can  I  know  it  bet 
ter  than  you  ?  Signora,  I  do  not  wish  to  do  you  harm. 
If  you  say,  now,  that  you  wish  to  be  free,  1  will  also  say 
it.  To  be  a  princess,  and  yet  not  to  be  happy,  is  possi 
ble.  Shall  it  be  like  that  ?" 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  "  You  want  to  break  off  our 
engagement,"  she  said,  angrily.  u  You  have  led  me  on 
all  this  time,  only  to  tell  me  this  now  !  It  is  unkind  and 
cruel  !"  she  went  on,  breaking  into  tears.  "  You  want 
to  be  rid  of  me,  and  that  I  should  bear  the  blame.  I 
won't  have  it  so  !  You  think  you  can  insult  me  because 
1  have  no  one  to  defend  me.  I  believe  you  love  some 
one  else,  and  you  want  to  go  to  her.  Well,  1  hope  she 
will  serve  you  as  you  have  served  me  !" 

Saroni's  face  darkened,  and  he  set  his  teeth  together. 
But  after  a  moment  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled, 
tossed  away  the  geranium,  stooped  forward,  and  lightly 
touched  her  arm.  She  drew  away  petulantly  from  his 
touch,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands.  At  length,  how 
ever,  she  allowed  herself  to  glance  at  him  askance  ;  and 
finally,  wiping  her  eyes  and  catching  her  breath  in  little 
sobs,  she  disposed  herself  to  listen  to  her  future  hus 
band's  apology,  should  any  be  forthcoming. 


PKTXCE    SARONI'S    WIFE.  23 

"  We  will  not  remember  all  that,"  was  what  he  said. 
"  It  is  gone  by." 

"  Why  do  you  say  such  tilings,,  if  you  want  me  to  for 
get  them  ?"  she  asked. 

Saroni  laughed.  "It  is  told  me  that  1  am  a  wild  ani 
mal,"  he  said,  "  that  I  do  not  know  how  to  be  as  other 
men.  But  you  are  so  pretty  you  can  make  wild  animals 
tame.  "Well,  now  I  have  something  to  tell  you  besides 
that." 

"  Something  pleasant  ?"  she  demanded,  plaintively. 

u  Oh,  very  pleasant  !  We  shall  be  married  on  Thurs 
day  ;  on  Saturday  sails  the  steamer  from  Liverpool  ;  that 
gives  a  day  before  we  must  leave  London.  Have  you 
been  at  Richmond  ?' ' 

"  No,  indeed,  I  have  not,"  said  the  girl,  beginning  to 
look  animated. 

"  There  is  a  pretty  house  there,  beside  the  river,  and 
a  boat.  In  the  afternoon,  when  you  have  been  made  a 
princess,  we  shall  say  good-by  to  mamma,  and  go  down 
there  by  ourselves.  In  the  evening,  when  it  is  cool,  we 
shall  get  in  the  boat  and  row  on  the  river.  Then,  the 
next  day,  we  go  to  Liverpool,  and  sail  to  America. 
Will  that  be  good?" 

"  I  shall  like  it  very  much  !" 

The  Italian  drew  a  deep  breath.  u  We  shall  say 
good-by  to  England  there,"  said  he.  "  Have  you  loved 
England,  signora  ?' ' 

u  Pretty  well  ;  but  I  haven't  had  much  time,  you 
know." 

"  It  is  better  you  do  not  love  it  very  much,  since  you 
must  leave  it.  But  as  for  me — "  he  paused,  his  black 
eyes  resting  on  her  upturned  face —  "  I  shall  say  good- 
by  to  many  things  on  that  day,"  he  added,  dropping  his 
voice — "  good-by  for  the  last  time  !" 


24  PllIKCE   SARONI' S   WIFE. 

I  have  often  wondered,  in  after  times,  what  possessed 
Saroni  to  make  tins  trip  to  Richmond.  No  doubt  it  was 
his  purpose  to  see  Ethel  Moore  ;  but  why  should  he 
plan  to  take  his  leave  of  her  on  the  first  night  of  his 
marriage,  and  with  his  wife,  as  it  were,  looking  on  ? 
Had  he  hoped  to  bring  the  two  women  to  some  sort  of 
reconciliation  with  each  other  ?  The  idea  was  too  un 
likely,  even  had  the  appalling  sequel  not  discredited  it. 
To  this  hour,  I  can  only  conjecture  what  may  have  been 
in  Saroni's  mind  when,  on  that  Thursday  evening,  he 
got  into  the  boat  with  his  new-made  wife,  and  dropped 
down  the  stream.  All  that  I  feel  sure  of  is,  that  the 
Princess  Saroni' s  innocent  little  heart  was  far  from  har 
boring  any  suspicion  of  what  was  in  the  wind.  She  was 
full  of  enjoyment  of  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  twi 
light  river  and  the  pleasurable  excitement  of  the  first 
opening-out  of  a  new  and  untried  life.  1  doubt  if  she 
were  even  aware  of  the  existence  of  Ethel  Moore,  much 
less  that  she  intended  evil  against  her.  Hers  wras  not  a 
profound  nature,  but  she  was  good-humored  and  easily 
pleased,  and  was  incapable  of  bearing  serious  malice 
toward  any  one. 

What  actually  happened  (so  far  as  was  known  at  the 
time)  was  simple  enough,  and  is  easily  told.  The  prince 
and  princess  dined  in  the  house  by  the  river  at  six 
o'clock,  the  dinner  being  sent  in  from  the  hotel  near 
by  ;  for,  as  they  were  to  spend  but  one  night  in  the 
villa,  they  had  brought  no  servants  with  them.  At  half 
past  seven  they  went  down  to  the  river  bank  and  got 
into  the  boat.  The  villa  is  situated  some  distance  above 
the  old  stone  bridge  ;  and  before  eight  o'clock  two  or 
three  persons  noticed  the  boat  drop  down  beneath  it, 
pass  on  to  the  railway  bridge,  and  so  round  the  curve 
and  out  of  sight.  The  prince  had  the  oars,  and  the 


PKItfCE   SAROXl'S   WIFE.  25 

princess  sat  in  the  stern  and  handled  the  tiUer.  From 
this  time  they  were  lost  sight  of  for  some  hours  ;  but,  at 
a  quarter  before  eleven  o'clock,  a  policeman  testified  to 
having  seen  the  drawing-room  window  of  the  villa 
lighted,  and  Princess  Saroni  in  the  act  of  drawing  down 
the  blind.  The  .next  morning  the  pair  were  driven  to  the 
railway  station,  were  locked  into  a  reserved  carriage  by 
the  deferential  guard  (with  the  prince's  half  crown  in  his 
pocket),  and  so  proceeded  to  London.  In  accordance 
with  their  prearranged  plan,  they  went  on  to  Liverpool 
the  same  night,  embarked  on  Saturday  on  board  the 
Russia,  and  landed  at  New  York  on  Tuesday  of  the 
week  following.  Such  is  the  chronology  of  events,  with 
but  a  single  ghastly  occurrence  omitted. 

For,  on  that  same  Thursday  night  of  the  newly- 
married  pair's  excursion  down  the  river,  a  human  lifo 
came  to  a  violent  end  within  a  few  yards  of  a  spot  which 
their  boat  must  have  passed.  Whether  or  not  the  death 
were  self-inflicted,  and  whether  or  not  the  Prince  and 
Princess  Saroni  were  aware  of  the  tragedy  at  the  time  of 
its  occurrence,  were  questions  which  engaged  the  atten 
tion  and  taxed  the  brains  of  many  ingenious  persons  for 
a  long  time  afterward. 


Y. 


IT  was  on  the  following  Monday,  if  I  remember  right, 
that,  looking  over  the  morning  paper,  I  came  upon  a 
paragraph  announcing  "  Another  Mysterious  .Disappear 
ance."  A  young  lady,  Moore  by  name,  had  left  her 


26  PRINCE   SARONl'S    WIFE. 

hoirie  near  Isle  worth  on  the  Thames,  somewhere  be 
tween  seven  and  nine  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  Thurs 
day  last.  A  description  of  her  dress  and  personal  appear 
ance  followed.  It  was  requested  that  any  information 
concerning  her  should  be  sent  to  her  father,  Eev.  James 
Moore,  at  the  address  given. 

The  name,  of  course,  struck  me  at  once,  and  gave  rne 
the  uncomfortable  sensation  of  being,  as  it  were,  the  in 
nocent  accomplice  in  an  ugly  affair.  My  first  impulse 
was  not  to  reveal  my  knowledge  to  the  authorities  ;  but 
I  finally  decided  that,  in  so  grave  a  case,  I  had  no  right 
to  consult  my  own  convenience.  I  did  not,  at  this 
period,  apprehend  that  Miss  Moore  was  dead  ;  but 
where  could  she  be  ?  I  began  to  realize  that  the  elucida 
tion  of  this  question  might  involve  Saroni.  I  spent  the 
day  in  anxious  cogitation,  and,  on  Tuesday  morning,  I 
betook  myself  to  the  Rev.  James  Moore,  at  Isleworth. 
He  turned  out  to  be  a  grim  and  difficult  old  person  ;  and 
he  not  only  had  never  heard  that  his  daughter  had  had 
an  attachment  for  any  one,  but  he  utterly  refused  to  ac 
cept  my  hints  to  that  effect.  And  when,  at  length, 
I  succeeded  in  shaking  his  conviction  on  that  score, 
lie  became  intractable  on  another.  He  now  declared 
that  his  daughter  was  a  dishonest  wretch,  and  that  he 
would  spend  not  another  thought  or  word  on  her.  And 
even  when  I  had  pointed  out  the  possibility  (which  was 
hourly  becoming  a  certainty  to  myself)  that  she  had 
taken  some  desperate  means  of  avoiding  the  agony  of 
separation  from  the  man  she  loved,  this  cantankerous 
parent  still  refused  to  betray  a  decent  amount  of  solici 
tude  about  her. 

Meanwhile  the  police  were  in  motion,  and  the  country 
was  scoured  in  all  directions,  but  with  no  result.  It 
transpired  that  she  had  taken  no  money  with  her  ;  and 


27 

her  only  ornaments  were  the  necklet  and  bracelets  of 
chased  silver,  given  her  by  her  deceased  mother.  She 
could  not  have  travelled  far  on  such  a  capital  as  that. 
Day  by  day  the  area  of  inquiry  narrowed,  until  at  last  it 
centred  upon  the  river — as  my  reluctant  premonition 
had  feared  would  be  the  case.  It  was  beneath  the  quiet 
surface  of  that  stream  that  the  revelation  of  the  mystery 
was  to  be  sought.  I  must  admit  that  Saroni  was  more 
often  and  anxiously  in  my  thoughts  than  Ethel  Moore, 
whom,  after  all,  I  had  never  seen  ;  for  I  saw  that  the 
catastrophe  would  probably  compromise  him  ;  and,  as  1 
heartily  believed  in  his  innocence  of  voluntary  evil,  I 
dreaded  the  more  lest  the  logic  of  events  should  seem  to 
insinuate  the  contrary. 

On  Monday,  September  12th,  the  revelation  came. 
A  waterman,  punting  along  the  bank  opposite  Kew 
Gardens,  hooked  up  the  body  of  a  woman,  which  had 
evidently  been  more  than  a  week  in  the  water.  It  was 
greatly  disfigured  ;  but  it  was  the  body  of  a  young 
woman  with  dark  brown  hair.  1  telegraphed  to  Saroni, 
under  cover  to  his  bankers  in  Kew  York,  the  same  after 
noon.  The  message  was  as  follows  :  "  Send  sworn  state 
ment  of  your  whereabouts  and  actions  between  seven 
and  eleven  P.M.,  September  1st.  Ethel  Moore  found 
drowned  in  Thames  near  Richmond."  This  was  in 
anticipation  of  the  turn  the  inquest  was  sure  to  take  ; 
Saroni 's  authenticated  testimony,  if  not  his  personal 
presence,  would  be  required  sooner  or  later.  As  re 
garded  the  identification  of  the  remains,  there  was, 
"  fortunately" — as  the  coroner  put  it — u  no  difficulty." 
I  was  present  at  the  inquest.  "  Do  you  recognize  this 
body  as  that  of  any  one  you  know  ?"  inquired  the  official 
of  the  Rev.  James  Moore,  who  stood  beside  the  pallet, 
with  his  hat  dragged  down  over  his  furrowed  brow,  and 


28  PRINCE    SARONl'S    WIFE. 

the  harsh  skin  puckering  and  twitching  round  the  cor 
ners  of  his  mouth. 

"It  is  the  body  of  my  daughter,  Ethel  Moore,"  said 
he,  with  a  dogged  but  unready  utterance.  "  I  know  it 
by  the  general  appearance,  though  grievously  disiig- 
ured  ;  by  the  dress  ;  by  the  initials  on  the  handkerchief  ; 
and  by  the  necklet  and  bracelet  of  chased  silver,  given 
her  ten  years  ago  by  her  mother,  which  she  habitually 
wore.  Is  that  sufficient  ?" 

"  Quite  so,  Mr.  Moore,"  returned  the  official,  with  a 
bow. 

The  old  man  turned  to  go  out  ;  but  T  noticed  that  his 
step  was  uncertain,  and  he  put  out  one  arm,  as  though 
groping  his  way.  Eeaching  the  doorway,  he  leaned  his 
head  and  shoulder  against  it,  and  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  fall.  But  in  a  few  moments  his  giddiness 
passed  off,  and  facing  round  again,  he  once  more  ad 
dressed  the  coroner. 

"Mark  my  words,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  whisper, 
"  and  forget  them  not.  They  will  try  to  prove  that  my 
girl  committed  suicide.  It  is  false  !  She  was  murdered 
—murdered  !  I  swear  it  before  God  !  And  while  God 
spares  me  life  and  sense,  1  will  search  the  murderer  out, 
and  bring  him  to  justice.  Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  the  official,  respectfully,  but 
not  overawed.  "  I'll  make  a  note  of  your  statement, 
and  nobody  will  be  'appier  to  indict  the  guilty  parties, 
when  found,  than  I  shall.  Wish  you  good-day,  sir." 

The  subsequent  discussion  in  the  newspapers  turned 
chiefly  on  the  comparative  probability  of  murder  or  sui 
cide  ;  for  the  theory  of  accidental  death  was  negatived 
by  the  fact  that  a  mass  of  stones,  fifty  or  sixty  pounds  in 
weight,  was  found  in  a  plaited  twine  bag  attached  to  the 
girl's  waist.  One  important  piece  of  testimony  in  favor 


PRINCE   SARONI'S   WIFE.  29 

of  suicide  was  that  of  a  waterman,  who  stated  that,  some 
three  or  four  weeks  back,  he  had  been  in  the  way  of 
overhearing  a  conversation  between  Miss  Moore  (whom 
lie  knew  by  sight)  and  a  "  furren  genTman,"  whom  he 
sufficiently  described  ;  "  and  Miss  Moore  she  vowed 
she'd  drown  herself  if  the  genTman  went  for  to  keep 
company  with  any  other  woman  besides  her."  The 
worst  point  made  against  Saroni  was  that  he  had  visited 
Richmond,  and  been  on  the  river  the  very  night,  and  at 
the  very  spot,  where  the  tragedy  had  occurred.  But,  on 
the  other  hand,  had  the  prince  anticipated  a  violent  in 
terview  with  Ethel  Moore,  assuredly  he  would  not  have 
taken  his  wife  to  witness  it.  All  the  same,  I  was  glad 
that  the  telegram  had  been  sent  to  Saroni.  An  answer 
might  be  expected  to  arrive  by  mail  in  about  a  week. 

A  week  had  not  elapsed  when  I  was  startled,  one 
night,  by  a  sharp  and  imperious  knock  at  my  door  ;  and 
before  I  could  say  "Who's  there?"  Saroni  himself 
strode  in.  He  was  gaunt,  travel-stained,  hectic  with 
excitement.  Thrusting  his  hand  in  his  coat-pocket,  he 
pulled  out  the  torn  and  crumpled  telegram  that  he  had 
received  in  New  York,  and  held  it  out  to  me,  with  a 
questioning  look,  but  without  a  word. 

"Yes,"  I  said,  understanding  him,  "it  is  true,  my 
dear  Saroni  ;  and  I'm  glad,  on  all  accounts,  that  you 
have  come  in  person.  Is  your  wife  with  you  ?" 

"  My  wife  ?  No  !"  lie  looked  hard  at  me.  "  She 
will  riot  be  wanted." 

"  Have  you  any  evidence  to  give  ?" 

He  nodded.  "  1  saw  her  that  night  ;  I  went  to  see 
her." 

"You  did  see  her?     Why?" 

For  answer,  he  handed  me  a  letter,  bearing  date 
August  25th,  and  signed  "  Ethel  Moore."  Its  language 


30 

was  sad  but  gentle,  and  the  gist  of  it  was  that  Saroni 
should  meet  her  once  more  before  he  went  away.  "  I 
wish  to  part  from  yon  in  kindness,"  the  letter  said, 
"  not  to  reproach  you.  Bring  your  wife  with  you,  but 
let  me  see  her,  if  possible,  without  her  seeing  me.  I 
shall  be  at  the  place  you  know  of,  on  the  river-bank,  at 
half-past  eight  on  Thursday."  There  was  nothing  else 
of  importance  in  the  letter. 

"  Did  you  answer  it  ?"  I  asked. 

"  1  let  her  know  I  would  be  there." 

"  Did  you  say  anything  to  your  wife  about —  ?" 

Saroni  shook  his  head,  and  sank  heavily  into  a  chair. 
I  gave  him  some  brandy,  which  he  drank  freely.  By 
and  by  I  asked  him  whether  Ethel  had  been  as  quiet  as 
her  letter. 

"I  thought  so — yes,"  said  he.  "1  kissed  her. 
Diavolo  !  I  would  have  gone  with  her — anywhere  ! 
If  I  had  known  this  was  to  come  .  .  .  Well,  a  woman 
can  deceive  !" 

"  Did  she  meet  your  wife  ?" 

"  Bah  !  it  would  have  been  folly.  I  left  the  princess 
further  down,  in  the  boat  ;  I  came  ashore  and  walked  a 
little  way;  Ethel  was  there."  He  fell  into  a  gloomy 
abstraction.  u  All  was  said  in  ten  minutes,"  he  added. 
u  Then  1  carne  back  to  the  boat." 

"  She  was  not  excited  ?" 

"  She  was  .   .   .  cold  !"  replied  he,  in  a  peculiar  tone. 

"  Poor  girl  !"  I  muttered.  "  After  all,  it  was  you 
who  killed  her,  Saroni." 

"  That  is  a  lie  !"  cried  he,  leaping  to  his  feet.  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  attack  me.  His  set  teeth 
gleamed  through  his  black  beard  ;  his  eyes  glared.  For 
a  moment,  I  realized  that  there  were  possibilities  in  the 
Italian  that  1  had  not  reckoned  with.  But  then,  remem- 


PRINCE  SARONT'S  WIFE.  31 

bering  the  state  of  nervous  agitation  lie  must  be  in,  1  felt 
no  wonder  lie  should  lose  his  self -mastery.  I  quieted 
him  at  length,  arid  he  lay  down  on  my  sofa  and  slept. 
There  was  a  wild,  haggard  beauty  in  him  as  he  lay  there. 
It  was  several  hours  before  he  awoke,  and  then  he  left 
me,  with  the  understanding  that  we  were  to  meet  at  the 
adjourned  inquest  the  next  day. 

Pondering  over  our  interview,  it  seemed  to  me  strange 
in  more  ways  than  one.  Saroni  had  made  no  direct  pro 
fession  of  grief  for  Ethel's  death  ;  he  had  seemed  fierce, 
gloomy,  and  almost  reserved,  save  for  his  outbreak  of 
passion  at  my  remark.  Was  a  remorse  haunting  him  ? 
Ethel  had  told  him  that  she  would  haunt  him  after  death. 
Had  he,  during  their  last  farewell,  spoken  some  word 
which  had  driven  Ethel  to  desperation  ?  I  concluded, 
finally,  that  I  did  not  understand  Saroni  ;  he  had  depths 
which  I  had  not  sounded.  Meanwhile,  I  was  glad  that 
his  outburst  had  not  taken  place  before  the  coroner's  jury. 

But,  at  the  inquest  next  day,  he  was  quiet  and  com 
posed,  and  I  noticed  that  he  had  taken  unusual  pains 
with  his  personal  appearance.  The  gist  of  his  evidence 
was  substantially  as  I  have  given  it,  and  though  the.  jury 
was  surprised,  the  impression  produced  was  good.  The 
noteworthy  event  of  the  proceedings  was  the  Rev.  James 
Moore's  cross-examination  of  the  prince. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  standing  up,  rigid  and  angular,  in  his 
rusty  black  garb,  and  fixing  his  dull  gray  eyes  on  the 
vivid  and  swarthy  Italian,  "  Sir,  did  you  love  my 
daughter?" 

"  I  loved  her,1'  said  Saroni. 

"  Why  did  you  keep  me  in  ignorance  of  your  love  for 
her?" 

"  It  was  her  wish.  She  said  there  was  no  love  be 
tween  you  and  her." 


33 

The  old  man  winced  at  this,  but  he  went  on. 

"  When  you  first  met  her,  you  were  betrothed  to  an 
other  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Saroni,  with  a  smile. 

"  When  did  my  daughter  first  know  that  ?" 

"  Before  the  midst  of  August." 

"What  did  she  say  to  it?" 

"  There  was  pain  and  anger.  She  said  she  would 
drown  herself.  My  heart  was  in  trouble." 

"  Did  you  propose  that  your  love  should  continue  in 
dishonor  ?" 

Saroni's  face  flushed,  and  the  snake-like  vein  in  his 
temple  seemed  to  writhe.  "  It  is  you  who  would  do  her 
dishonor  !"  he  exclaimed,  defiantly. 

"  Did  she  submit  tamely  to  be  cast  aside,  so  that  you 
might  pay  some  debts  and  live  in  purple  and  fine  linen  ?" 

Saroni  was  silent.  At  last  he.  said,  "  She  did  not  sub 
mit." 

"  Did  you  attempt  to  pacify  her  ?" 

"  I  said  I  would  come  to  her,  and  lose  all,  if  she 
would  have  it  so." 

"Why  did  you  not  doit?" 

"  She  said  no.  You  have  read  her  letter,  and  ac 
knowledged  it  her  writing." 

"  She  wrote  it  to  secure  the  interview,  which  you 
would  otherwise  have  refused  her." 

Saroni  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Bat,"  continued  the  other,  charging  each  word  with 
the  bitter  venom  of  hatred,  u  what  did  she  say  to  you 
when  you  stood  beside  her  on  the  river-bank,  just  before 
you  stuffed  the  handkerchief  in  her  mouth,  and  strangled 
lier  with  your  hands,  and  sunk  her  body  in  the  river, 
with  the  bag  of  stones  at  her  waist  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  bony  figure  of  the  gray-haired  man 


PRINCE   SARONI 'S   WIFE.  33 

seemed  to  grow  taller,  his  hands  reached  forward  as  if  to 
clutch  his  enemy,  and  his  eyes  had  the  dull,  fixed  glitter 
of  a  serpent's.  It  seemed  to  me — but  it  may  have  been 
iny  fancy — that  Saroni  flinched.  But  the  next  moment 
he  drew  himself  up  and  said,  writh  contemptuous  quiet 
ness  : 

"  I  request  the  court  that  it  protect  me.  This  man  has 
gravely  mistaken.  I  should  be  happier  to  be  dead  myself, 
than  to  harm  his  daughter,  or  let  her  be  harmed." 

The  coroner  cleared  his  throat  and  administered  a 
gentle  remonstrance  to  the  old  clergyman,  to  which  the 
jury  murmured  an  assent.  The  attack,  though  ingeni 
ously  planned,  had  failed  to  invalidate  the  prince's  testi 
mony.  No  motive  had  been  shown  to  justify  the  charge 
of  murder.  The  coroner  put  the  question  to  the  jury, 
and  their  verdict  was,  that  the  deceased  drowned  her 
self,  while  temporarily  of  unsound  mind.  They  added 
their  condolences  to  the  deceased's  father,  and  their 
thanks  to  Prince  Saroni  for  his  courtesy  in  travelling 
three  thousand  miles  to  assist  them  in  their  duties.  The 
inquest  then  closed. 

But  as  Saroni  and  I  were  leaving  the  house,  a  heavy, 
hasty  step  came  after  us,  and  the  Rev.  James  Moore 
thrust  himself  in  our  way. 

"  A  parting  word  to  you,  sir,"  he  began,  in  his  harsh,' 
monotonous  tones,  addressing  the  prince,  who  faced  him 
silently.  "  We  shall  meet  again.  I  see  murder  in  your 
face,  and  I  will  wring  the  confession  from  you  yet  ! 
You  will  live  day  and  night  in  fear  of  discovery  ;  and 
when  you  are  discovered,  I  shall  be  there  to  see.  May 
God  give  you  the  mercy  you  gave  to  that  dead  girl  ?'' 

"  Sir,  you  are  in  my  path,"  was  all  Saroni's  reply  ; 
and  passing  by  him,  he  resumed  his  walk  by  my  side,  to 
all  appearance  unmoved. 


34  PRINCE   SARONI'S   WIFE. 


VI. 


SAEONI  returned  to  America  immediately.  He  never 
wrote  to  me  during  his  sojourn  in  Washington,  but  1 
used  to  hear  of  him  occasionally.  It  would  appear  that 
he  had  resigned  himself  to  his  lot  quite  philosophically. 
He  became  noted  in  the  American  capital  for  his  enter 
tainments  ;  and  the  princess  was  spoken  of  as  a  beauty, 
and  a  charming  hostess.  It  was  added  that  the  two  were 
conspicuously  devoted  to  each  other  —  a  peculiarity 
which,  in  the  United  States,  stands  in  the  way  of  a 
couple's  popularity  less  than  in  London. 

Mrs.  Medwin,  the  Princess  Saroni's  mother,  died  in 
London  during  the  ensuing  year.  She  was  the  princess's 
last  surviving  relative.  Not  long  after  this  event,  tho 
news  reached  me  that  the  Saronis  were  about  to  return 
to  Europe.  They  did  not,  however,  come  to  London, 
but  landed  at  Havre,  and  proceeded  to  Paris. 

I  should  have  mentioned  that  the  Rev.  James  Moore 
did  not  allow  the  acquaintance  between  us  to  drop. 
Ever  and  anon  1  ran  across  him  ;  and  always  he  made  a 
point  of  informing  me  that  his  conviction  of  Saroni's 
guilt  remained  unaltered  ;  and,  further,  that  he  was 
using  every  means  to  obtain  the  evidence  to  confirm  his 
belief.  It  was  an  ugly  spectacle — this  old  man,  by  pro 
fession  dedicated  to  the  work  of  spreading  Christ's 
gospel  on  earth,  devoting  his  remaining  years  of  life  to 
the  prosecution  of  an  unholy  and  desperate  revenge. 
His  one  thought — or  monomania — was  to  bring  Saroni 
to  the  gallows.  On  this  theme  would  he  discourse,  in 
his  slow,  acrid  tones,  at  inexhaustible  length  ;  but  with- 


PBIKCE   SAROKl'S   WIFE.  35 

out  ever  saying  anything  that  might  lead  a  sane  person 
to  give  heed  to  him. 

About  the  time  the  Saronis  reached  Paris,  I  took  a 
fancy  to  go  thither  myself,  though  not  with  the  special 
intention  of  meeting  them.  As  it  happened,  however, 
I  saw  the  prince  on  the  day  of  my  arrival,  at  Munroe's 
banking  house.  He  was  a  good  deal  changed.  He  had 
grown  much  stouter,  and  his  glance  had  lost  its  -briskness 
and  intensity.  He  impressed  me  as  a  man  who  had  de 
teriorated.  He  invited  me  to  call  on  him  and  the 
princess  ;  and,  accordingly,  the  next  afternoon  1  was 
ushered  into  her  drawing-room. 

She  was  a  young  and,  I  thought,  a  strikingly  hand 
some  woman,  though  a  good  deal  emaciated  ;  American 
air  seeming  to  have  taken  from  her  the  flesh  it  had  be 
stowed  on  her  husband.  Her  eyes  were  large  and 
bright,  but  had  an  anxious  look  ;  and  she  had  a  trick  of 
ever  and  anon  half  glancing  over  her  shoulder  while 
conversing  with  you.  Her  hands,  refined  in  form  and 
texture,  were  never  completely  at  rest  ;  if  they  were  not 
playing  with  a  fan  or  a  handkerchief,  or  moving  a  book 
or  a  paper-knife  on  the  table,  they  were  twisting  them 
selves  together  slowly  in  her  lap.  Her  face,  despite  its 
lack  of  happiness  and  serenity,  had  great  tenderness  in 
it,  and  struck  me  as  strangely  pathetic. 

She  greeted  me  cordially  ;  but,  at  first,  she  had  an  air 
of  watching  me — with  so  much  intentness,  indeed,  that 
once  or  twice  she  replied  at  random  to  my  remarks.  But 
gradually  this  watchfulness  died  away,  and  she  became 
comparatively  composed.  The  longer  we  conversed,  the 
more  her  charm  grew  upon  me  ;  and  I  wondered  that 
Saroni  should  ever  have  wished  for  a  better  wife  than 
this.  Half  as  good  a  one,  I  thought,  would  have  con 
tented  me. 


3G 

"  Did  you  like  America  ?"  of  course  1  asked. 

"  Very  much  ;  they  are  an  easy,  hospitable  people. 
We  shall  return  some  day.*' 

"  But  we  shall  see  you  in  London  first  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  princess,  fixing  her  eyes  upon  me 
intently  ;  "  no,  we  shall  not  go  to  London." 

I  felt  that  perhaps  I  should  not  have  introduced  the 
subject.  "  London  is,  to  be  sure,  neither  picturesque 
nor  salubrious,"  1  said.  "  Paris  and  Washington  are 
much  brighter  and  prettier."  We  went  on  to  speak  of 
the  comparative  architectural  merits  of  various  cities  ; 
and  finally  the  princess  took  me  to  the  window,  at  the 
end  of  the  room,  to  show  me  some  photographs  of  the 
street  in  which  they  had  lived  in  Washington.  The  pho 
tographs  were  in  a  portfolio,  on  a  large  mahogany  stand. 

While  the  princess  was  searching  for  the  photograph, 
with  her  back  to  the  room,  arid  the  open  window  in 
front  of  her,  a  servant  entered,  ushering  in  some  visitor. 
The  noise  in  the  street  prevented  her  from  hearing  the 
announcement,  and  she  did  not  turn  round.  But  I  saw 
a  tall,  stiff  figure,  in  a  black  coat,  enter  the  room,  and, 
after  looking  in  our  direction,  pause.  I  did  not  recog 
nize  the  figure,  in  the  slight  glance  1  gave  it. 

"  This  must  be  it — yes,  it  is  !"  said  the  princess,  tak 
ing  out  the  photograph.  Her  full,  agreeable  voice,  with 
the  sad  chord  vibrating  through  it,  corresponded  with 
the  pathos  in  her  face. 

"  See,  this  was  our  house,"  she  continued,  pointing  it 
out  to  me  with  her  finger  ;  "  this,  with  the  high  steps, 
and  the  portico.  I  loved  that  portico,  because  it  re 
minded  me  of  the  house  I  lived  in — one  I  saw,  that  is, 
in  England.  This  was  the  window  of  my  boudoir." 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  with  that  odd  glance  over  her 
shoulder.  This  time  my  eyes  followed  hers.  I  had 


PKINCE  SARONl'S   WIFE.  37 

forgotten  our  visitor  ;  but  there  he  stood,  where  he  had 
first  taken  up  his  position.  At  that  distance  1  could  not 
distinguish  his  features  ;  but  nevertheless,  I  now  recog 
nized  him  :  it  was  the  Rev.  James  Moore.  1  suppose 
he  had  seen  in  the  papers  that  the  Saronis  were  in  Paris. 
I  felt  the  desirability  of  getting  him  out  of  the  house  as 
speedily  and  quietly  as  possible  before  the  prince  should 
come  in. 

"  I  know  this  gentleman,"  I  said  in  an  undertone  to 
the  princess.  "  He's  a  trifle  deranged  in  the  upper 
story.  With  your  permission,  I'll  conduct  him  down 
stairs." 

But  she  paid  no  attention  to  me.  "  Do  you  wish  to 
speak  to  me,  sir  ?"  she  said  to  Mr.  Moore.  "  Will  you 
come  this  way  ?' ' 

"  Thank  you,  madam,"  he  replied,  moving  a  few 
steps  nearer.  "  I  came  to  see  your  husband  ;  but  there 
is  something  in  your  voice  that.  ..." 

Here  a  curious  change  came  over  the  Rev.  James 
Moore.  His  brow  and  eyelids  quivered,  and  then  were 
lifted  upward,  as  if  he  saw  a  spectre.  An  exaggerated 
trembling  shook  his  body.  His  hands  wavered  about 
aimlessly. 

"  God  have  mercy  !"  I  heard  him  murmur,  in  a  thin 
voice.  "  I'm  going  mad.  That's  my  murdered  girl. 
.  .  .  Ethel!" 

I  looked  at  the  Princess  Saroni.  She  raised  her 
hands,  and  pressed  them  for  a  moment  against  her  tem 
ples  ;  then  let  them  fall,  writh  a  long,  long  sigh,  like  the 
giving  up  of  a  weary  and  passion-strained  life.  Her  lips 
moved,  but  not  audibly. 

"  My  murdered  Ethel  !"  quavered  the  old  man  again. 

".Not  murdered,  father,  but  the  murderess,"  said 
the  princess,  in  a  dry,  quiet  tone. 


38  PRINCE   SARONl'S   WIFE. 

The  old  man  clasped  his  shaking  hands  together,  and 
burst  into  a  hurried,  crowing  laugh.  "  Alive,  my  girl  ! 
alive  and  sound  and  well,  Ethel  !  God  be  thanked — 
God  be  praised  !  Ho,  ho,  ho,  ho  !  And  now  you'll 
come  back  and  live  with  me,  Ethel,  my  girl  !  And 
never  say  I  don't  love  you,  child.  I  do  !  I  do  !  you'll 
never  hear  a  hard  or  loveless  word  from  me  again. 
Come,  girl — come  at  once  !" 

He  tried  to  grasp  her  ;  but  she  avoided  him  quietly. 
"It  is  too  late,  father,"  she  said.  "  The  truth  is 
known,  and  can  be  hidden  no  more.  We  cannot  begin 
to  be  father  and  daughter  now.  1  have  had  my  way, 
and  my  love,  for  a  year.  And  I  was  loved,  too  ;  but  it 
was  time  even  that  should  end.  Even  love  is  not 
enough  ;  we  have  had  time  to  find  that  out  !" 

A  few  words  of  explanation  may  be  required.  Al 
though  the  princess — as  we  may  still  call  her — took  on 
herself  the  chief  responsibility  of  the  murder,  it  was 
shown  at  the  trial  that  Saroni  was  the  really  guilty  one. 
His  first  plan  was  to  elope  with  Ethel,  and  so  much  of 
the  other  woman's  money  as  he  could  lay  hands  on. 
But  she  indignantly  rejected  this  proposal.  He  then — 
but  without  making  Ethel  privy  to  the  scheme — resolved 
on  the  murder.  The  letter  was  written  by  her  after  the 
murder  was  done. 

What  happened  on  that  fatal  evening  will  never  be 
certainly  known.  The  two  women  were  dressed  nearly 
alike,  and  the  murdered  girl  had  on  Ethel's  ornaments, 
which  Saroni  had  previously  borrowed  of  her,  on  the 
pretext  of  having  them  remounted,  and  had  then  pre 
sented  to  his  doomed  wife  as  a  wedding  gift.  Every 
thing  was  so  contrived  as  to  favor  the  theory  of  suicide  ; 
and  I  am  now  inclined  to  think  that  Saroni 's  con  versa- 


PRINCE   SAROtfl'S   WIFE.  30 

tions  with  me,  recorded  in  the  third  chapter  of  this 
story,  were  deliberately  intended  to  mislead  me  on  this 
essential  point. 

The  reader  must  form  his  own  conclusions  as  to 
SaronTs  real  character,  and  the  degree  of  Ethel's  par 
ticipation  in  his  crime.  My  opinion  is  that  he  was  very 
much  as  I  have  represented  him — genial  and  simple  in 
some  ways,  diabolically  subtle  in  others,  and  clever 
enough  to  use  his  simplicity  to  further  his  diabolism. 
Ethel  I  do  not  presume  to  judge.  Her  former  life  had 
been  repressed  and  barren  ;  her  love  wras  like  the  sud 
den  flowering  out  of  some  sweet  but  poisonous  plant ; 
her  passions,  good  and  bad,  were  of  exceptional  intensity. 
What  she  did,  she  did  ;  and,  no  doubt,  she  suffered, 
even  before  the  end.  I  do  not  think  she  found  in 
Saroni  all  that  she  had  expected. 


THE  PEAEL-SHELL  NECKLACE. 


THE  PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE. 


AMONG  the  pleasantest  memories  of  my  earlier  days  is 
one  of  an  old  gabled  f  arm-house  overlooking  the  sea.  It 
is  a  July  afternoon,  calm  and  hot.  The  sea  is  pale  blue 
and  its  surface  glassy  smooth  ;  but  the  passage  of  a 
storm  somewhere  to  the  eastward  causes  long  slumberous 
undulations  to  lapse  shoreward.  They  break  upon  the 
Devil's  Ribs — that  low  black  reef  about  half  a  mile  out 
— and  the  sound  is  borne  to  our  ears  some  seconds  after 
the  white-foam  line  has  marked  itself  against  the  blue 
and  vanished.  There  is  a  fine  throb  of  sun-loving  insects 
in  the  air,  which  we  may  hear  if  we  listen  for  it  ;  but 
more  immediately  audible  is  the  guttural  drawing  of  old 
Jack  Poyntz's  meerschaum  pipe,  and  the  delicate  click 
ing  of  his  sweet  daughter  Agatha's  polished  knitting- 
needles.  From  writhin  doors  comes  the  fillip  of  water 
and  the  clink  of  chinaware — good  Mrs.  Poyntz  washing 
up  the  dinner  things.  For  we  have  just  dined,  and  the 
blessing  of  a  good  digestion  is  upon  all  of  us. 

Yes  ;  there  we  three  sit,  in  my  memory,  side  by  side 
upon  the  stone  bench  outside  the  farm-house  door.  The 
projecting  eaves  throw  a  quiet,  transparent  shadow  over 
us.  Two  or  three  venerable  hens  are  scratching  and 
nestling  in  the  hot  sandy  soil  near  yonder  corner,  and 


44  THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE. 

conversing  together  in  long-drawn,  comfortable  croak- 
ings.  The  fragrant  smoke  from  Poyntz's  pipe-bowl 
circles  upward  on  the  air,  until  it  takes  the  sunlight  high 
over  head.  Truly  a  pleasant  time,  whose  peacefulness 
is  still  present  with  me  after  so  many  years.  I  am  old, 
who  then  was  young  ;  but  that  July  sunshine  is  warm  in 
iny  heart  to-day. 

Poyntz  was  an  ancient  mariner — not  lean  and  uncanny, 
however  ;  but  burly,  jovial,  and  brown  :  with  a  huge 
grizzled  beard  spreading  over  his  mighty  chest,  a  voice 
as  deep  and  mellow  as  a  sea-lion's,  and  eyes  as  blue  and 
clear  as  the  ocean  upon  which  they  had  looked  for  more 
than  sixty  years.  He  had  been  a  successful  sailor  ;  had 
visited  many  lands  and  brought  home  many  cargoes,  and 
was,  in  a  rough,  simple  way,  a  thorough  cosmopolitan. 
After  his  last  voyage  he  had  settled  down  in  the  ances 
tral  farm-house,  and  applied  himself  to  agriculture.  He 
was  as  prosperous,  contented,  and  respected  a  man  as 
any  in  the  neighborhood  ;  and  during  the  fortnight  or  so 
that  1  had  lodged  beneath  his  roof,  1  had  grown  into  a 
hearty  liking  for  him.  While  as  to  Agatha  .  .  .  ah,  it 
was  not  liking  that  I  felt  for  her  !  Strange  that  that 
fair,  finely  moulded,  queenly  creature  was  only  a  sailor's 
daughter  !  Much  as  I  honored  Poyntz,  I  could  not 
help  sometimes  feeling  surprised  at  it.  At  all  events, 
she  was  as  perfect  a  lady  as  ever  stepped  on  high-arched 
feet  ;  and  I  fancied  that  the  old  mariner  and  his  wife 
treated  her  in  a  manner  more  befitting  a  distinguished 
visitor  than  a  child  of  their  own.  There  was  sturdy 
little  Peter,  now — he  whose  brown  legs  were  visible  be 
neath  the  low-spreading  bough  of  a  scrub-oak  beside  the 
mill-stream  yonder — there  could  be  no  doubt  as  to  him. 
But  what  a  brother  for  Agatha  ! 

How  well  1  recall  her  aspect,  though  it  is  more  than 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  45 

twenty  years  since  that  day.  Her  shapely  head  was 
bound  about  with  a  turban  of  her  bright  yellow  hair,  but 
her  eyes  and  eyebrows  were  dark.  Her  neck  was  round 
and  slender,  and  supported  its  burden  in  unconscious 
poses  of  maidenly  dignity.  The  contours  of  her  figure 
were  full,  yet  refined  ;  her  wrists  were  small,  and  her 
hands  were  shaped  like  that  which  lies  on  the  bosom  of 
Canova's.  Yenus.  Her  manners  breathed  simplicity  and 
sweet  composure,  yet  were  reserved  and  serious  withal, 
and  sometimes  they  were  tinged  with  a  shadow  of  mel 
ancholy.  At  such  moments  her  hands  would  fall  into 
her  lap,  her  head  would  droop  a  little  forward,  and  her 
dark  eyes  gravely  fix  themselves  upon  some  sunlit  sail 
that  flecked  the  pale  horizon.  So  would  she  remain 
until,  perhaps,  the  sail  sank  below  the  verge,  or  became 
invisible  in  shadow  ;  then,  with  a  sigh,  the  soft  fetters 
of  her  preoccupation  would  seem  to  fall  away  from  her. 
What  were  her  thoughts  during  those  reveries  ?  and  why 
should  they  be  sad  ones  ?  I  had  never  ventured  to 
question  her  much  as  yet  ;  her  mystery  was  itself  u  fas 
cination. 

One  thing  about  her  had  attracted  my  particular  notice 
from  the  first — the  curious  pearl-shell  necklace  that  she 
always  wore  clasped  round  her  smooth  throat.  It  was 
composed  of  very  small  shells  of  a  peculiar  species,  not 
found  in  that  part  of  the  world.  These  were  woven 
into  a  singular  pattern  of  involved  curves,  arid  were 
fastened  with  a  broad  gold  clasp,  in  the  centre  of  which 
was  set  a  large  pearl.  Handsome  as  the  ornament  was, 
however,  and  becoming  to  its  wearer,  it  would  not  have 
so  riveted  my  attention  but  for  a  circumstance  to  which 
.  I  must  here  make  a  passing  allusion. 

Among  my  most  precious  possessions  at  that  time  was 
a  fine  oil  portrait  of  my  great-grandmother,  who  was  a 


46  THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE. 

famous  beauty  in  her  day.  My  family,  I  should  have 
said,  is  of  Danish  extraction,  though  the  name— Feuer- 
berg — was,  after  the  emigration  of  the  elder  branch  to 
America,  translated  to  the  present  Firemount.  In  my 
great-grandmother's  days  there  had  been  a  bitter  family 
quarrel  ;  the  younger  brother  had  attempted  to  cast 
doubts  upon  the  legitimacy  of  the  firstborn,  and  when 
he  failed  to  make  good  his  claim,  he  had  fraudulently 
seized  upon  a  large  portion  of  the  inheritance  and  made 
his  escape — whither  was  not  known,  for  no  effort  was 
made  to  pursue  him.  It  was  believed  that  he  went  to 
Germany  and  married  there  ;  and  that  afterward  he  or 
his  son  had  made  another  remove,  since  which  even  con 
jecture  had  been  silent  concerning  them.  But  to  return 
to  the  portrait.  It  was  a  half-length,  and  had  the 
quaint  head-dress  and  costume  of  the  period,  one  part 
only  being  out  of  the  fashion  ;  but  it  was  this  very  part 
that  had  always  possessed  most  interest  for  me.  It  was 
the  curious  pearl-shell  necklace,  woven  in  a  strange  pat 
tern,  and  fastened  with  a  golden  clasp,  which  was  repre 
sented  upon  my  great-grandmother's  statuesque  bosom. 
This  necklace  had  for  centuries  been  a  family  heirloom, 
and  many  quaint  traditions  were  connected  with  it.  It 
was  said  to  have  been  given  to  the  founder  of  our  race 
by  a  w^ater- witch,  or  some  such  mythologic  being  ;  and 
sundry  mysterious  virtues  were  supposed  to  belong  to  it. 
Precisely  what  these  virtues  were  I  cannot  tell,  nor  does 
it  happen  to  be  of  much  consequence.  One  saying  only 
1  remember — that  the  wearing  of  it  would  insure  us 
happiness  and  prosperity  so  long  as  no  member  of  the 
family  brought  dishonor  on  the  name  ;  but  thereafter  it 
would  bring  ruin.  Now  the  necklace  had  been  handed 
on  from  one  prosperous  generation  to  another,  until  the 
date  of  the  quarrel  above  alluded  to  ;  and  then,  all  at 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  47 

once,  it  had  disappeared  ;  arid  my  great-grandmother 
was  the  last  person  known  to  have  worn  it.  She  men 
tioned  it  on  her  deathbed,  and  foretold  that  no  good  fort 
une  was  to  be  expected  for  the  Feuerbergs  until  the 
sacred  heirloom  was  recovered,  and  made  a  symbol  of 
the  healing  of  the  family  feud. 

The  negative  part  of  the  prophecy  had  certainly  been 
verified.  The  elder  branch  of  the  Feuerbergs  never  got 
over  the  effects  of  the  blow  inflicted  upon  it  by  the 
younger  brother.  They  gradually  subsided  from  their 
original  high  estate,  and  were  at  last  compelled  to 
abandon  the  ancestral  homestead,  and  try  their  luck  in 
the  New  World.  At  the  time  of  my  birth  we  were  in 
decently  comfortable  circumstances,  which  improved 
upon  the  whole  as  I  grew  toward  manhood.  I  passed 
through  college,  and  was  afterward  admitted  to  the  bar, 
which  by  and  by  afforded  me  a  tolerable  income.  But 
one  spring  I  fancied  myself  ailing,  and  resolved  to  try 
the  sea  air  ;  and  so  it  happened  that  I  became  acquainted 
with  Jack  Poyntz,  and  with.  Agatha,  and  with  her  pearl- 
shell  necklace. 

Of  course,  all  idea  of  recovering  the  original  necklace 
had  long  ago  been  abandoned.  It  had  been  conjectured 
that  the  seceding  brother  of  old  times  had  appropriated 
it  along  with  many  other  things  that  did  not  belong  to 
him  ;  but  there  was  no  proof  of  this,  other  than  that  its 
disappearance  had  been  simultaneous  with  his  own. 
Moreover,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  I  had  outgrown  the 
easy  credulity  of  boyhood,  and  was  rather  inclined  to 
suspect  that  the  whole  picturesque  old  tradition  was 
three  parts  imagination  to  one  of  fact.  To  be  sure, 
there  was  the  painted  necklace  in  the  portrait  ;  but  all 
the  rest  of  the  evidence  concerning  it  rested  upon  mere 
hearsay.  Very  likely  it  had  been  made  to  my  great- 


48  THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE. 

grandmother's  order  in  Copenhagen  ;  and  she  had  mis 
laid  it  or  broken  it,  and  afterward  had  entertained  her 
grandchildren  with  fairy  stories  about  it,  which  they  had 
grown  np  to  believe  true.  But  no  young  lawyer  of  this 
age,  even  if  he  happen  to  be  of  a  romantic  turn  of  mind, 
can  afford  to  put  faith  in  water- witches  ;  and  if  that  part 
of  the  tradition  must  be  rejected,  why  not  all  the  rest  ? 
It  might  soothe  my  family  pride  to  ascribe  our  decadence 
to  the  loss  of  a  trinket,  or  I  might  excuse  my  indolence 
by  declaring  that  fortune  was  attainable  only  on  condi 
tion  of  its  being  found  again  ;  but  if  I  descended  to  hard 
matter-of-fact,  as  a  lawyer  should  do,  I  must  admit  there 
was  nothing  cross-questionable  in  such  an  old-wives'  tale. 
Cross-questionable  or  not,  it  will  readily  be  conceived 
that  the  sight  of  Agatha's  pearl  shells  gave  me  a  thrill 
of  surprise,  and  deepened  my  interest  in  one  who  needed 
no  such  accidental  attraction  to  render  her  irresistible. 
The  necklace  so  closely  resembled  the  one  in  the  por 
trait,  that  the  latter  might  have  been  painted  from  it. 
It  was  possible,  no  doubt,  that  my  great-grandmother's 
necklace  was  not  unique  ;  that  a  duplicate — nay,  many 
duplicates — existed.  But  it  was  not  upon  the  face  of  it 
probable,  nor  was  I  disposed  to  accept  any  such  common 
place  solution  of  the  problem.  I  loved  Agatha,  and  I 
loved  to  think  (for  ha^c  I  not  hinted  that  I  was  roman 
tic,  though  a  lawyer  ?) — I  say  it  suited  me  to  believe  that 
the  necklace  linked  her,  however  unaccountably,  with 
me.  It  was  evident  that  she  herself  looked  upon  it  as  a 
most  precious  possession.  She  wore  it  continually,  as 
she  might  have  worn  a  talisman,  and  touched  it  often, 
twisting  the  golden  clasp  about,  or  following  the  woven 
pattern  with  meditative  finger-tips.  Once,  when  sud 
denly  alarmed,  I  saw  her  grasp  it  quickly  in  her  hand,  as 
if  either  seeking  protection  from  it,  or  instinctively 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  49 

yielding  it  protection  ;  and  another  time,  during  a 
storm,  when  a  vessel  was  laboring  in  the  offing,  and 
seemed  in  danger  of  being  carried  upon  the  Devil's  Ribs, 
I  came  upon  her  just  as  she  kissed  the  great  pearl  in  the 
clasp,  as  a  Catholic  would  have  kissed  the  crucifix  to 
avert  misfortune. 

"  Water-  witch  !  water- witch  !  be  thy  spells  whole 
some  ?"  I  said  in  Danish,  for  a  knowledge  of  the  ances 
tral  tongue  has  always  been  kept  alive  in  the  family. 

She  turned  round,  started,  and,  to  my  no  small  sur 
prise,  answered  in  the  same  language — "  Doubt  not  the 
spell,  if  the  danger  be  daunted  !" 

And  then,  seeming  to  recollect  herself,  she  blushed, 
and  said  in  English,  u  It  was  a  song  my  old  nurse  taught 
me.  I  should  like  to  be  a  witch,  if  I  might  save  people 
from  being  shipwrecked." 

1  made  no  reply,  and  we  stood  silently  watching  the 
struggle  of  the  vessel  with  the  storm  for  perhaps  ten 
minutes.  At  length  it  succeeded  in  tacking  at  the  very 
moment  when  all  seemed  lost,  and  bore  safely  away. 
Agatha's  eyes  met  mine  for  an  instant  ;  there  were  both 
smiles  and  tears  in  them.  She  kissed  her  pearl  again 
and  moved  away.  But  my  digression  has  already  gone 
further  than  I  intended.  Let  us  return  to  the  stone 
bench  beneath  the  eaves,  and  the  hot  July  sunshine. 


II. 

"  MR.  POYNTZ,"  said  I,  clasping  my  hands  behind  my 
head,  and  crossing  one  knee  over  the  other,  "  how  hap 
pens  your  house  to  be  set  up  directly  opposite  the  Devil's 


50  THE    PEAKL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

Ribs,  and  at  least  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  village  ? 
It's  well  enough  in  summer,  of  course,  but  in  winter, 
when  the  snow  is  on  the  ground,  I  should  think  you'd 
want  to  be  nearer  your  butcher,  not  to  speak  of  the 
meeting-house. " 

"  Ay,  surely  !"  answered  Mr.  Poyntz,  taking  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  smoothing  down  the  great  sheaf  of 
his  beard.  "  But,  d'ye  see,  sir,  'twas  not  I  set  the 
house  here,  nor  rny  father  before  me,  and  maybe  there 
was  no  butcher,  not  yet  no  meeting-house,  along  in  those 
times.  And  another  thing,  since  you've  set  me  a-going, 
sir  ;  you  see  the  lighthouse  on  the  point  yonder  ?"  indi 
cating  an  abrupt '  rocky  promontory  half  a  mile  to  the 
right  of  our  position,  which  lay  athwart  the  shore  like  a 
vast  wall,  separating  us  from  the  little  fishing  harnlet  on 
the  other  side.  "  Ye  see  the  lighthouse  on  tip-end  of 
Gloam's  Point,  don't  ye  ?  Well,  sir,  old  as  that  light 
house  looks  to  you  now,  I,  that  am  a  deal  older  than  you 
are,  can  remember  when  'twa'n't  there.  And  that 
brings  me  round  to  what  I  was  going  to  say.  Along  in 
those  times,  sir,  when  there  wa'n't  no  regular  lighthouse, 
but  no  bit  less  danger  of  craft  running  ashore,  they  used 
to  rig  up  a  sort  of  a  jury-light,  if  I  might  so  call  it,  in 
the  front  of  our  old  gable.  Ye  may  see  the  fixings  now 
if  ye  steps  forward  a  bit  and  look  up  there.  Ay,  ay, 
every  dark  night,  more  especially  every  dirty  night, 
some  one  of  us  would  mount  the  garret  shrouds,  d'ye 
see,  and  show  the  lantern.  And  many  a  ship  we  saved, 
no  doubt ;  but  they'd  come  ashore  once  in  a  while,  for 
the  best  we  could  do." 

"  That's  a  suggestive  name — Devil's  Ribs.  I  suppose 
the  bones  of  many  a  good  man  and  vessel  lie  swallowed 
lip  in  them." 

"  Ay,  surely,"  returned  the  ancient  mariner,  swathing 


THE  PEAKL- SHELL  NECKLACE.  51 

bis  head  in  a  haze  of  tobacco-smoke.  "  The  more  since 
the  currents  and  whirlpools  thereabout  mostly  keep  back 
the  floating  bits — spars,  bodies,  and  such  like — from  get 
ting  to  the  beach.  Whatever  strikes  there,  sinks  there, 
speaking  in  a  general  way.  And  forasmuch  as  there's 
five  and  thirty  fathom  clear  water  there,  and  always  a 
tidy  bit  of  surf  on,  'tain't  very  popular  work  dredging." 

"That's  an  ugly  thought,"  1  observed;  "a  great 
ship  might  go  down  there  and  nothing  ever  be  found  to 
show  what  she  was  or  who  sailed  in  her." 

1  happened  to  glance  at  Agatha  as  I  made  this  obser 
vation,  and  noticed  that  she  paled  a  little  and  let  her 
hands  fall  in  her  lap,  and  after  a  few  moments  she  got 
up  and  entered  the  house,  leaving  Mr.  Poyntz  and  me  to 
ourselves.  I  fancied — but  I  may  have  been  mistaken — 
that  as  she  passed  the  threshold  she  laid  her  finger  upon 
the  pearl-shell  necklace. 

"  Miss  Agatha  doesn't  like  to  hear  of  wrecks,"  I  re 
marked  after  a  pause. 

"  Why,  no,  sir,"  said  Poyntz  slowly,  his  blue  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  surf- whitened  reef  ;  "  and  perhaps  'tis 
natural  she  should  not — specially  those  wrecks  that  the 
Devil's  Ribs  is  to  blame  for." 

u  Has  that  necklace  of  hers  anything  to  do  with  it  ?" 
1  asked — though  1  cannot  tell  what  possessed  me  to  put 
so  inconsequent  a  question.  Partly  to  justify  myself,  I 
added,  "  It  looks  as  if  it  might  have  been  washed  up  out 
of  the  sea." 

Poyntz  threw  a  sharp  look  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of 
his  weather-eye.  "  Ye've  noticed  the  necklace,  have 
ye  ?"  said  he  ;  "  and  ye've  a  quick  wit  of  your  own,  as 
they  say  is  the  way  with  lawyers,  llowbeit,  1  think 
Jack  Poyntz  knows  an  honest  man  when  he  sights  him, 
and  hoping  ye'll  excuse  the  freedom,  sir,  metliinks  you 


52  THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE. 

are  one.  Now  there's  a  bit  of  a  yarn  I'd  like  to  spin  ye 
— you  being  beknown  among  the  great  gentlefolks  down 
to  New  York  and  elsewhere — about  a  wreck  that  once 
was  on  the  Devil's  Eibs.  Maybe  some  of  those  you  do 
business  for  can  throw  light  upon  it  like  ;  for  what  the 
ship  was  that  was  wrecked,  or  whence  she  sailed,  was 
never  known  ;  for  only  that  necklace  that  Agatha  wears 
— only  that  and  .  .  .  something  else,  ever  came  to  land. 
Ye  guessed  right,  sir,  d'ye  see,  and  in  hopes  of  your 
guessing  yet  more,  I'll  spin  ye  the  yarn,  leastways  if 
ye've  no  objection.  But  afore  starting,  if  ye'll  kindly 
allow  me,  sir,  I'll  load  my  pipe,  for  with  me  the  words 
come  ever  easier  when  there's  smoke  behind  'em." 

I  said  nothing,  but  Poyntz  saw  well  enough  that  I 
was  very  much  interested,  and,  like  all  incorrigible  yarn- 
spinners,  he  found  a  humorous  pleasure  in  prolonging 
his  hearer's  suspense.  It  was  five  minutes  before  his 
pipe  was  cleaned  out,  refilled,  and  lighted  to  his  satisfac 
tion,  and  then,  having  spread  out  his  great  arms  along 
the  back  of  the  bench,  stretched  his  mighty  legs  in  front 
of  him,  and  fixed  his  gaze  upon  the  lighthouse — his 
favorite  yarn-spinning  attitude — he  appeared  to  wait  for 
an  inspiration. 

"  How  long  ago  was  it?"  I  asked  at  length,  to  set 
him  going. 

"  Well,  sir,  it  might  be  five-and-twenty  years  ago  that 
that  wreck  took  place.  You  was  hardly  more  than  out 
of  your  nursery  then,  I'm  thinking.  As  for  me,  I  was 
a  chap  of  maybe  forty — or  maybe  not  so  much  ;  my  old 
father  he  had  just  parted  his  last  cable,  as  1  might  say, 
and  I  had  just  come  in  from  a  voyage  to  the  Pacific 
Coast  for  hides,  and  was  living  in  this  house  alone  by 
myself.  I'd  come  home,  sir,  to  find  the  girl  as  had 
given  me  her  word  spliced  to  another  man  ;  and  so  it 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  53 

happened  that  I  stayed  a  bachelor  till  after  the  age  when 
many  finds  themselves  grandads.  But  I  wedded  at  last, 
sir,  as  ye  see,  and  never  had  canse  to  think  the  worse  of 
myself  for  doing  it  !" 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed,"  I  assented,  laughing. 
But  meanwhile  I  was  telling  myself  that  Agatha  must  be 
nearly  twenty  years  old,  and  that  if  Poyntz  had  wedded 
only  at  the  age  of  a  grandfather,  she  could  hardly  be  his 
own  offspring  by  marriage.  Were  the  doubts  which  her 
aspect  had  already  suggested  to  me  well  founded,  then  ? 
I  prudently  waited,  in  the  hope  that  this  question  like 
wise  might  find  its  answer  in  the  course  of  my  host's 
story. 

"  It  was  along  about  that  time,  sir,"  Poyntz  contin 
ued,  having  acknowledged  my  compliment  with  a 
friendly  nod,  "  that  I  first  came  acquainted  with  Scholar 
Gloam,  as  the  folks  called  him  ;  him  that  yonder  point's 
named  after,  and  that  lived  at  the  Laughing  Mill,  over 
there,  back  of  the  wood.  But  now  I  come  for  to  think 
on  it,"  broke  off  the  old  yarn-spinner,  pulling  his  meer 
schaum  out  of  the  corner  of  his  mouth  and  looking  round 
at  me,  "  did  I  ever  chance  to  speak  to  ye  of  Scholar 
Gloam  afore  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  you  ever  did  ;  but  I  always  like  to 
hear  about  anything  that  has  a  picturesque  nickname,  as 
almost  everything  hereabouts  seems  to  have." 

The  hale  old  man  laughed,  and  raked  his  brown 
fingers  through  his  spreading  beard.  "  In  an  out-of-the- 
way  place  like  this,  sir,"  said  he,  "  where's  few  enough 
things  any  way,  nicknames  come  natural.  "Well,  now,  as 
touching  Scholar  Gloam,  he  died  nigh  a  score  of  years 
ago  ;  leastways  he  knocked  off  living  in  the  body.  For 
there  be  those,"  lowering  his  voice  and  wrinkling  his 
brows,  "  there  be  those — superstitious  like — ready  to 


54  THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE. 

take  affidavit  of  having  seen  him,  certain  days  in  the 
year,  a  prowling  round  the  Laughing  Mill.  His  grave 
is  near  by,  right  under  the  Black  Oak  ;  and  maybe  the 
place  is  a  bit  skeery. 

"  Howsoever,  that  don't  concern  us  now.  When  I 
knew  Scholar  Gloam,  he  was  a  middling-sized,  slender- 
built  young  gentleman,  having  queer  hair  not  all  of  the 
same  color,  and  a  trick  of  talking  to  himself  in  a  sort  of 
a  low  mumbling  way,  as  it  might  be  the  bubbling  of 
water  under  a  ship's  stern,  if  ye  know  what  I  mean,  sir. 
He  was  a  comely  favored  man  of  the  pale  sort,  and  grave 
and  silent,  though  always  the  gentleman  in  his  manners, 
as  by  blood  arid  breeding.  For  the  Gloams  was  the 
great  family  here  fifty  years  ago,  and  was  landlords  of 
most  of  the  farms  roundabout  ;  but  they  steered  a  bad 
course,  as  I  might  say,  and  died  out,  so  as  Scholar 
Gloam  was  the  last  of  'em.  Old  Harold,  the  Scholar's 
father,  he  was  a  reckless  devil-may-care,  if  any  man  ever 
was  ;  and  when  he  died  'twas  found  that  Gloam  Hall 
and  all  belonging  thereto  must  go  to  the  auction.  The 
only  bit  left  was  the  Laughing  Mill  itself,  and  an  acre  or 
two  of  land  round  about  it." 

"  What  did  the  mill  laugh  at,  Mr.  Poyntz  ?  its  own 
prosperity  ?" 

"  Nay,  sir  !"  returned  the  burly  mariner,  shaking  his 
head.  "  I  heard  it  laugh  once,  and  I'd  as  soon  crack 
jokes  with  Davy  Jones  as  listen  to  it  again.  'Twas  a 
mad,  wild  scream  more  than  a  laugh,  and  like  nothing 
human,  praise  goodness,  that  ever  I  heard  !  There  was 
ugly  yarns  about  that  mill,  d'ye  see  ;  folks  said  as  how 
it  had  killed  a  man,  and  afterward  had  got  possessed 
with  his  evil  spirit  that  was  always  roaming  about  seek 
ing  whom  it  might  devour  ...  or  maybe  I've  got 
things  a  bit  mixed  !" 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  55 

"  Who  was  it  that  was  killed  ?"  I  suggested. 

"Ay,  surely,"  said  Mr.  Poyntz,  thoughtfully,  "I 
should  have  told  ye  that.  It  was  the  man  that  was  mar 
ried  to  old  Squire  Harold's  housekeeper.  And  that 
housekeeper,  sir,  when  she  was  a  young  one,  was  about 
as  well-favored  a  wench  as  a  man  would  care  to  speak 
with  on  a  week  day  ;  and  'twas  said,"  hitching  himself 
nearer  to  me  on  the  bench  and  rumbling  in  my  ear, 
"  that  the  Squire  had  a  fancy  to  her,  and  that  after  a 
time  she  was  married  off  in  a  hurry  and  sent  to  live  at 
the  mill,  and  that  her  baby  was  born  six  months  from 
the  wedding.  Well,  all  I  know  is,  little  enough  that 
child  looked  like  him  as  passed  for  its  father  ;  and  now 
comes  the  ugliest  part  of  it.  A  year  after  the  child's 
birth  the  miller  was  found  dead  one  morning  underneath 
his  own  mill-wheel.  Seems  he'd  fallen  in  the  mill-race 
by  some  mishap,  and  so  had  the  life  crushed  out  of  him. 
But  bad  things  was  said  .  .  .  and  the  widow  and  child 
they  went  back  to  the  Hall,  and  lived  there  many  years, 
till  the  Squire  died.  The  child  got  all  his  growth  and 
training  there,  and  folks  used  to  say  he'd  have  been 
more  like  the  Squire  if  he  hadn't  been  most  like  his 
mother.  "Well,  the  Squire  being  gone  at  last,  and  the 
estate  all  sold  saving  just  the  mill,  as  I  told  ye,  what 
does  the  housekeeper  and  her  son  do  but  go  back  to  the 
mill  again.  The  son — David  he  was  called — was  then  a 
likely  young  chap  of  maybe  seventeen  ;  and  he  took 
right  hold  and  began  for  to  run  the  mill,  and  a  very  fair 
profit  he  made  out  of  it,  taking  one  year  with  another. 
And  Scholar  Gloam,  he  was  living  in  the  mill-house 
along  with  them,  having  his  room  to  himself,  and  his 
books  and  instruments  quite  cosey." 

"  Wasn't  that  rather  an  odd  thing  for  him  to  do,  Mr. 
Poyntz,  under  the  circumstances  ?" 


56  THE    PEARL-SHELL   KECKLACE. 

"  Ay,  surely  ;  but  ye  must  keep  it  in  mind,  sir,  that 
Scholar  Gloam  was  a  wondrous  odd  man.  He'd  been 
his  whole  life  shut  up  with  his  books  and  his  studies,  and 
no  doubt  had  a  vast  deal  of  that  sort  of  learning  ;  but  of 
worldly  knowledge,  as  I  might  say,  he'd  none  at  all 
whatever,  no  more  than  a  child.  Little  he'd  heard  of 
his  father's  doings,  be  it  with  the  handsome  housekeeper 
or  anything  else  ;  and  little  he  dreamed — ye  can  make 
affidavit — that  her  son  had  any  claim  to  call  himself  his 
brother,  though  'twas  told  him  once  afterward,  as  we'll 
come  to  presently.  Nay,  but  my  thought  of  him  is,  he 
was  a  simple,  honest  gentleman  at  that  time,  kind  of 
heart  and  thinking  ill  of  no  one  ;  only  a  bit  strange  and 
distant,  d'ye  see,  as  was  no  harm  in  the  world  for  him  to 
be.  And  being  quite  the  same  thing  to  him  whether  he 
lived  in  a  palace  or  a  mud  hut,  so  long  as  he  might  study 
his  fill,  why,  likely  he'd  an  easy  enough  time  of  it. 

u  And  'twould  have  been  smooth  enough  sailing  for 
the  whole  of  them  only  for  one  thing,  which  is  to  say  as 
how,  ever  and  anon,  in  the  mid  of  a  big  run  of  luck, 
that  there  mill  would  take  on  a  spell  of  its  laughing  ; 
and  with  that  folks  would  be  giving  it  a  wide  berth,  and 
business  would  slack  up  again.  It  was  no  use  the  old 
\vornan  and  David  a  swearing  that  a  bit  of  rust  on  the 
axle  was  the  cause  of  it  all  ;  for,  mind  ye,  there  was  no 
steering  round  that  black  fact  of  the  old  miller's  having 
met  his  death  on  the  wheel  ;  and,  too,  though  they  was 
never  done  hunting  for  that  bit  of  a  rust  spot,  they  never 
found  it  ;  or  if  ever  they  thought  they  had,  lo  !  there'd 
be  the  laugh  in  their  faces  again,  so  to  say,  the  next 
morning.  Ay,  'twas  a  bad,  unholy  sound  that,  sir  ;  but 
the  Scholar,  strange  to  be  told,  seemed  less  to  mind  it 
than  any  one  ;  the  cause  being,  mayhap,  as  how  he  was 
a  wondrous  absent-minded  man  any  way,  and  the  only 


TilE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  57 

one  as  had  never  been  told  the  true  story  of  how  the  old 
miller  came  by  his  end. 

"  So  now,  sir,  having  dropped  ye  this  bit  of  a  hint  of 
who  Scholar  Gloam  was,  I'll  go  on  with  the  yarn  of  the 
wreck  on  the  Devil's  Kibs  and  the  necklace. 


III. 

"BuT,  first  and  foremost,"  continued  Mr.  Poyntz, 
after  having  revived  his  failing  pipe  with  a  dozen  or  so 
of  quick  whiffs,  "first  and  foremost  I  must  mention  a 
queer  habit  he  had — Scholar  Gloam,  I  mean — and  by 
which  it  was  as  1  first  came  acquainted  with  him.  As 
long  as  the  sun  was  over  the  horizon  line  he'd  stay  in 
doors,  behind  the  lock  of  his  study  door  ;  but  at  night 
fall  out  he'd  walk,  foul  weather  or  fair,  and  through  the 
wood  back  yonder,  down  across  the  rocky  pasture  to  the 
sea,  a  trip  of  maybe  a  mile  and  over.  And  often  at 
midnight,  as  I've  been  pulling  shoreward  from  the  offing 
in  my  fishing  dory,  I'  ve  seen  him  standing  a-top  of  the 
point,  where  the  lighthouse  stands  now,  the  sky  being 
light  behind  him,  and  he  looking  black,  and  bigger  than 
any  human  creature  ;  and  sometimes  he'd  be  tossing  his 
arms  about,  and  shouting  out  some  unchristian  lingo, 
though  there  was  no  one  there  to  talk  to — leastwise  that 
1  could  see.  'Twas  a  queer  thing,  I  say,  for  a  slender, 
delicate-looking  gentleman  like  him  to  be  out  so  by 
night,  in  all  weathers,  seeming  not  to  know  the  differ 
ence  whether  it  blew,  or  rained,  or  snowed,  or  all  three 
together.  Some  folks  used  for  to  shake  their  heads  over 


58  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

it,  and  say  he  was  gone  daft ;  others  there  was  (the 
superstitious  kind,  d'ye  see)  would  have  it  as  how  Davy 
Jones,  whose  black  bones  had  been  the  end  of  many  a 
good  ship  and  cargo,  was  in  the  custom  of  corning  nightly 
to  the  point  to  hold  parley  with  him,  as  it  might  be  to 
strike  a  bargain  whereby  Davy  should  get  the  Scholar 
his  estates  and  riches  again  in  change  for  his  soul. 

"  But  Jack  Poyntz  never  troubled  his  head  with  such 
fancies,  sir  ;  and  times,  when  I'd  stowed  my  boat  away, 
I'd  hail  him,  and  have  him  down  to  the  house  ;  and 
sitting  snug  together  by  the  kitchen  fire,  many  a  strange 
yarn  has  he  spun  me,  the  like  of  which  never  was  heard 
before —leastways  not  outside  of  the  books  that  were  hid 
in  his  library — and  of  which  many  were  writ  in  strange 
tongues  as  are  not  spoken  in  our  Christian  times.  But 
it's  not  for  me  to  be  repeating  of  'em  now,  only,  as  I 
was  a  telling  ye,  it  was  such-like  things  brought  us  ac 
quainted  ;  and  very  good  chums  we  were,  allowing  for 
his  being  a  young  gentleman  scholar,  and  me  a  sailor  as 
had  no  great  book-learning,  though  knowing  more  of 
men  and  things  than  a  hundred  such  as  him.  And  by 
the  end  of  a  couple  of  years  or  so,  meeting  him  that  way 
off  and  on,  I  knew  him  as  well  as  ever  anybody  knew 
him — as  well,  maybe,  as  he  knew  himself. 

"  Well,  things  being  this  way,  one  day,  about  the  last 
week  in  September,  it  came  on  to  blow.  There  was  no 
rain,  but  no  moon  either,  and  the  air  was  thick  ;  and 
night  coming  on,  it  was  as  black  as  my  hat.  It  wasn'  t  long 
afore  there  was  a  heavy  sea  running,  and  ye  could  have 
heard  the  surf  on  them  Devil's  Kibs  five  miles  inland. 
1  shipped  the  lantern  up  in  the  fore  gable  as  usual, 
though  knowing  it  couldn't  show  far  in  such  a  night  ; 
and,  thinks  I,  see  it  or  not,  any  ship  that  gets  caught  in 
the  tide  this  weather  is  bound  to  wreck  ;  so  I'll  hope, 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  59 

says  I  to  myself,  that  they'll  give  us  a  wide  berth. 
Howbe,  I  wasn't  sleepy,  so  I  loaded  my  pipe,  and, 
thinks  1,  I'll  have  a  snug  smoke  and  a  drop  of  grog 
alongside  the  kitchen  fire  afore  turning  in.  No  chance, 
thinks  I,  of  my  Scholar  happening  in  this  night  ;  he 
never  could  beat  up  against  that  wind,  not  if  he  had 
Davy  Jones  himself  to  pilot  him.  Well,  there  I  sat  for 
maybe  an  hour,  the  noise  of  the  storm  getting  ever 
louder  and  louder,  so  at  times  I  could  hardly  hear  the 
rattle  of  my  spoon  as  I  stirred  up  the  grog  in  the  tum 
bler.  Then  all  of  a  sudden  there  comes  a  knocking  at 
the  door,  quick  and  heavy,  and  up  I  jumps  and  opens  it, 
and  lo  !  there  was  the  Scholar,  with  no  hat  and  no  coat, 
and  that  strange-colored  hair  of  his  blown  up  wild  about 
his  head,  and  his  eyes  wide  open  and  bright  as  a  binnacle. 

u  i  Why  don't  you  come  in,  sir,'  shouts  I,  loud  as  if  I 
was  a  hailing  him  at  the  maintop,  such  a  noise  the  wrind 
made  ;  '  ye'll  get  the  heart  and  lungs  blown  clean  out  of 
ye  if  ye  stop  there  !  ' 

"  Seemed  like  he  answered  me  something,  I  couldn't 
make  out  what  ;  but  he  laid  hold  on  my  sleeve  with  that 
thin  white  hand  of  his,  that  gripped  like  a  vice,  as  if 
he'd  pull  me  out  into  the  storm  with  him,  instead  of 
coining  in  to  me.  And  by  his  face  I  could  see  there  was 
a  storm  within  him  as  stirred  him  more  than  the  one 
without  ;  and  then  he  pointed  down  seaward,  and 
thinks  I,  'tis  a  ship  he's  seen  or  heard  on  the  Devil's 
Ribs.  And  though  I  knew  well  we  could  no  more  help 
any  poor  wrecked  souls  than  if  they  was  in  the  moon, 
yet  it  wasn't  in  me  to  back  out  of  going  with  him  to  see 
what  there  was  to  see.  So  just  laying  hold  of  my  tar 
paulin  and  a  flask  of  rum,  off  we  starts  on  the  run,  dead 
in  the  wind's  eye.  How  he  managed  for  to  scud  over 
the  ground  at  that  rate  is  more  than  I  could  make  out  ; 


60  THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE. 

the  wind  seemed  to  take  no  hold  on  him,  but  just  let 
him  through  easy,  though  all  the  time  it  was  near  blow 
ing  my  ears  off. 

"  Well,  down  we  came  to  the  beach  at  last,  at  a  place 
about  a  cable's  length  this  side  of  the  point.  I'd  kept 
my  man  in  sight  up  to  this  time  by  reason  of  the  white 
shirt  he  had  on,  his  coat,  as  I  told  ye,  being  off  him,  but 
whither  gone  I'd  not  remembered  for  to  ask  him.  But 
now,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  found  he'd  disappeared,  and  all 
1  could  see  was  the  pale  froth  of  the  surf  that  came  leap 
ing  up  the  beach,  with  a  sound  from  the  black  wave  be 
hind  it  like  the  going  off  of  a  big  gun.  Howsoever,  1 
presently  stumbled  round  the  corner  of  a  big  boulder — • 
ye  may  see  it  yonder,  sir,  in  a  line  with  the  face  of  the 
lighthouse  and  the  top  of  the  pine  stump — and  there  he 
was  on  his  knees  beside  something  wrapped  up  and  still  ; 
and  when  I  looked,  'twas  seemingly  a  young  girl,  about 
twelve  to  thirteen  years  old,  with  no  life  in  her.  She 
had  come  ashore  on  a  bit  of  planking,  arid  the  Scholar  he 
had  seen  her  coming,  and  had  scrambled  down  from  the 
cliff  in  time  to  haul  her  in  and  under  the  lea  of  the 
boulder.  Ilovv  he  did  it  the  Lord  only  knows,  for  ten 
men  working  together  might  have  failed  in  it.  But 
there  she  lay,  with  no  mark  of  harm  or  bruise  upon  lier, 
and  yet  (as  my  heart  misgave  me)  lifeless  from  the  wash 
ing  of  the  waves  through  which  she  had  voyaged  to  land. 

"  I  saw  'twould  be  no  use  trying  to  give  her  brandy 
yet  awhile,  so  I  stoops  to  lift  her  up  along  with  the  bit 
of  planking  that  she  lay  upon  ;  and  Scholar  Gloam  he 
helped,  though  neither  of  us  spoke,  by  reason  of  the 
thundering  noise  of  the  surf  and  the  wind  that  half  deaf 
ened  us.  It  took  us  maybe  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
then  we  were  at  home,  and  had  her  down  before  the  fire, 
and  wrapped  in  hot  blankets,  and  everything  done  that 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  61 

could  be  done  ;  arid  after  nigh  a  couple  of  hours'  work, 
she  moved  the  least  mite  in  the  world,  and  fetched  a 
sigh.  With  that  I  sings  out  like  I'd  come  upon  a  chest 
full  of  gold  dollars,  and  says  I,  '  All's  well,  Scholar 
Gloain  ;  she's  a-coming  to,  and  she'll  live  to  smile  on 
us  yet  ! '  And  then  what  does  he  do,  sir,  but  just 
throws  his  head  back  with  a  little  laugh,  and  topples 
over  in  a  dead  faint.  'Twas  the  exhaustion,  ye  must 
understand,  as  had  come  on  all  at  once  after  the  suspense 
of  whether  she  was  alive  or  dead  was  over.  So  there 
was  I  with  the  two  of  'em  to  doctor.  Well,  1  soon  had 
the  Scholar  all  right  again  ;  but  when  he  saw  as  how  the 
child  was  a-doing  well,  he  drops  off  suddenly  to  sleep, 
being  tired  right  out  and  unable  for  to  keep  his  eyes 
open  ;  and  I  didn't  wake  him,  but  just  threw  a  blanket 
over  him,  and  let  him  sleep  it  out. 

"  It  was,  maybe,  half  an  hour  after  that  that  the  little 
girl  spoke  ;  she  had  been  opening  her  eyes  and  then  shut 
ting  them  several  times,  and  wondering  where  she  was 
got  to,  I  suppose,  poor  little  dear.  She  was  pretty  and 
white,  with  yellow  hair  and  big  blue  eyes,  and  soft  little 
feet  and  hands,  and  pointed  fingers  ;  and  round  her  neck 
was  the  pearl-shell  necklace  that  ye've  seen  Agatha 
wearing,  sir.  Well,  she  looked  at  me  for  a  bit,  and 
seemed  like  to  cry,  not  knowing  who  1  was,  or  where 
she'd  got  to,  d'ye  see  ;  and  then  she  said  something,  re 
peating  it  over  twice  or  thrice  ;  but  I  couldn't  under 
stand  her,  by  reason  of  her  speaking  some  foreign  lingo 
as  was  unknown  to  me.  Howsoever,  1  took  for  granted 
that  it  must  be  some  of  her  people  she  was  asking  after  ; 
so  I  pointed  to  the  back  room,  and  made  believe  as  they 
were  in  there,  but  asleep,  and  not  to  be  disturbed  then. 
She  believed  me,  poor  little  soul,  and  presently  after 
dropped  quietly  asleep,  with  the  tears  yet  under  her  eye- 


G2  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

lids,  and  the  firelight  flickering  over  her  sweet  face  and 
yellow  hair. 

'  Well,  I  sat  there  between  the  two,  for  I  wasn't 
sleepy  at  all  myself,  and  kept  the  fire  alight,  and  my 
own  pipe  a-going,  till  morning,  by  which  time  the  storm 
was  mostly  cleared  off.  So  I  got  the  old  lantern  down 
from  the  gable,  and  stirred  about  to  get  breakfast  ready  ; 
and  at  sunrise,  the  two  being  still  sleeping,  I  walked  out 
to  see  if  so  be  as  anything  of  the  wreck  was  visible. 
But  the  Devil's  Ribs  was  only  a  bank  of  foam,  and 
when  1  came  to  the  beach  there  was  nought  there  but  a 
few  shattered  timbers  and  bits  of  spars  and  rigging  ; 
whatever  else  there  may  have  been  had  gone  down  within 
the  whirlpool  of  the  Devil's  Eibs,  and  would  never  see 
daylight  more  ;  nor  was  there  anything  to  tell  where  the 
wrecked  ship  hailed  from,  or  what  she  was,  or  whither 
she  was  bound.  Nay,  a  man  might  well  have  doubted 
whether  there'd  been  any  wreck  at  all  ;  and  superstitious 
folks  might  have  thought  that  the  pretty  child  we  had 
found  was  a  sea-nymph  or  a  mermaid,  who  had  come  on 
the  shoulders  of  waves  to  bring  us  good  luck — or  bad, 
maybe  !  Not  that  I'd  have  ye  to  think,  sir,  that  I'm  of 
the  superstitious  kind,  being  a  man  as  has  seen  much  of 
the  world,  and  lived  a  number  of  years  in  it.  But  'twas 
a  strange  thing  altogether,  and  stranger  yet  was  to  fol 
low,  as  ye  shall  hear. 

"  In  my  walk  1  happened  by  the  boulder  where  I'd 
been  with  the  Scholar  overnight,  and  there  1  picked  up 
a  small  iron  box,  with  a  big  lock  on  it  ;  it  was  lashed  to 
four  bits  of  wood,  so  as  it  might  float,  and  1  think  it 
must  have  come  ashore  along  with  the  raft  that  brought 
the  little  girl.  Just  as  1  laid  hands  on  it,  and  cut  away 
the  lashings,  I  sighted  one  of  the  villagers  a-coming  over 
the  cliff  path  toward  me.  So,  not  caring  to  be  hailed  at 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  G3 

that  time,  1  slipped  the  box  in  the  pocket  of  my  jacket, 
and  steered  for  the  house. 

"  And  lo  !  there  was  the  fair  child  sitting  in  the  chair, 
and  the  Scholar  he  was  kneeling  in  front  of  her,  with 
her  hands  in  his,  and  they  were  a-talking  together  in 
that  same  foreign  lingo  as  she  had  spoken  in  to  me  ;  for, 
d'ye  see,  he  had  learnt  it  all  from  his  books,  and  under 
stood  it  as  well  as  she  who  was  born  to  it.  The  child 
was  a  bit  scared  and  tearful  still,  and  he  seemed  to  be  a- 
comforting  of  her  ;  and  as  1  came  in,  says  he,  '  Don't 
let  on  that  her  folks  are  drowned,  Jack  ;  for  I've  told 
her  they're  but  borne  away  to  another  harbor,  and  will 
return  one  day  to  claim  her.  So,  meanwhile,'  says  he, 
4  she'll  come  to  live  with  me  at  the  mill,  and  be  my  little 
girl  ;  for  is  she  not  my  little  girl  now,  since  'twas  I 
brought  her  forth  from  the  ocean  that  would  have  robbed 
her  sweet  young  life  ? '  With  that  he  kisses  her  little 
hands,  and  says  somewhat  to  her  again  in  her  own 
tongue.  It  touched  my  heart  to  see  the  two  together, 
sir  ;  for,  d'ye  see,  the  Scholar  had  never  seemed  to  be 
aware,  as  I  may  say,  of  women  or  children  until  now  ;  he 
had  moved  through  life  without  seeing  them  or  speaking 
to  them,  save  at  times  in  an  absent,  dreamy  sort  of  a 
way,  as  though  they  were  in  different  worlds.  But  now 
he  was  full  of  earnestness  and  a  kind  of  joyful,  trem 
bling  surprise,  as  one  who  had  all  of  a  sudden  opened  his 
eyes  to  a  great  treasure,  and  was  delighting  in  it  all  the 
more  for  that  he  had  been  unknowing  of  it  before.  He 
was  all  in  all  a  changed  man,  and  softened,  and  waked 
up  inside,  so  that  his  eyes  seemed  to  be  a-seeing  the 
things  that  was  round  him,  and  not  things  in  a  dream  ; 
and  methought  there  was  a  difference  in  his  voice,  too  ; 
it  was  deeper  and  tenderer  like,  and  made  you  feel  as 
how  he  had  grown  to  be  a  man  more  than  a  scholar.  I 


G4  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

thought  he  was  as  a  ship  that  had  long  been  lingering  in 
cold,  dark  waters,  baffled  with  winds  that  set  toward  no 
pleasant  harbor,  but  which  had  at  last  found  its  sails 
filled  with  a  fair,  fresh  breeze,  as  was  blowing  her  to 
warm  southern  seas  and  tropic  islands  full  of  heat  and 
life.  Ye'll  maybe  laugh,  sir,  to  hear  an  old  sailor  talk 
like  this  ;  but  surely  I  had  loved  the  man,  and  pitied 
him,  too,  for  his  loneliness  ;  and  it  touched  me,  as  1 
said,  to  see  that  he  had  found  a  good  thing  in  the  world, 
and  could  feel  the  happiness  of  it. 

"  Pretty  soon,  '  Jack,'  says  he  again,  '  ye  must  help 
me  carry  her  to  the  mill  this  morning,  before  the  village 
folks  are  astir  ;  and  don't  tell  them  that  she's  there,  or 
whence  she  came.  She's  my  own,  and  her  past  is  all 
gone  forever  ;  God  has  sent  her  to  me  for  my  own.  1 
'shall  make  her  love  me  as  I  now  love  her,  and  no  other 
shall  have  any  part  in  her.  I  will  be  to  her  all  that  she  has 
lost,  and  more  ;  and  I  will  cherish  her  always  and  make 
her  happy.  And  when  the  village  folks  find  out  that  I 
have  her  (as  soon  of  course  they  must),  they  shall  be  told 
that  she  is  a  good  fairy  come  to  bring  me  fortune  and  de 
light.  I'd  say  that  she  rose  up  one  morning  out  of  the 
deep  clear  pool  just  above  the  mill-race  ;  and  that  though 
appearing  as  a  human  being,  she  is  in  very  truth  not 
mortal,  but  has  consented  to  live  with  me  so  long  as  I 
continue  worthy  of  her  companionship.  But  when  the 
time  comes — which  God  forbid  it  ever  should  ! — that  1 
prove  unworthy,  then  shall  she  vanish  back  to  her  natural 
abode,  and  I  be  more  desolate  than  before  she  came. 
And  as  for  this  necklace,'  says  he,  i  it  is  a  talisman  ;  and 
should  fate  ever  separate  us,  yet  this  be  left  me,  'twill  be 
a  pledge  that '  .  .  . 

"  What's  happened  T ' 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  05 


1Y. 


THE  yarn  broke  off  abruptly  enough.  Poyntz  and  I 
liad  both  started  to  our  feet,  our  eyes  and  ears  straining 
toward  the  mill-stream,  where  little  Peter  had  during 
the  last  hour  been  quietly  fishing.  The  sound  of  a  quick 
scramble,  a  heavy  plunge,  and  simultaneously  a  lusty 
scream,  had  sharply  broken  the  repose  of  the  summer 
afternoon. 

"'Tis  the  brat  has  toppled  in!"  cried  Poyntz,  the 
sunburnt  ruddiness  of  his  complexion  turning  to  a  tawny 
sallow  hue.  "  He  can't  swim  ;  haste  ye  lower  down, 
sir  ;  I'll  to  the  pool  ;  but  if  as  he's  carried  over  the  fall, 
ye'll  stop  him  at  the  rapid." 

"We  had  already  set  off  on  a  run  toward  the  bank,  and 
we  now  separated  in  accordance  with  Poyntz's  sugges 
tion.  I  saw  no  more  of  the  latter,  being  wholly  ab 
sorbed  in  carrying  out  my  part  of  the  programme  ;  and 
in  a  few  moments  I  was  standing  panting  beside  the 
rushing  water,  trying  to  select  the  best  point  from  which 
to  take  my  plunge.  Just  then  I  heard  a  swift  rustling 
step  behind  me,  and  there  was  Agatha,  her  lovely  face 
and  eyes  aglow  with  terrified  excitement.  Then  it 
passed  through  my  mind  that  she  had  always  evinced  a 
particular  tenderness  and  affection  for  poor  little  Peter  ; 
and  at  the  thought  1  must  confess  that  my  resolve  to  save 
him  at  all  risks  became  tenfold  as  strong  as  it  had  been 

£D 

before. 

It  was  all  a  whirl  and  confusion  ;  and  only  by  com 
paring  notes  afterward  did  we  make  out  the  order  of 
events.  Master  Peter,  it  seems,  after  much  unfruitful 
angling,  had  at  last  succeeded  in  hooking  a  huge  trout, 


66  THE   PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE. 

and  straightway  liad  lost  first  liis  mental  and  then  his 
bodily  balance.  The  fish  being  fairly  on  the  hook,  and 
pulling  hard,  the  little  man  had  rather  chosen  to  go  in 
after  it,  rod  and  all,  than  save  himself  at  the  cost  of 
losing  it.  His  scream,  however,  had  startled  not  only 
his  father  and  myself,  but  Agatha  and  his  mother  like 
wise  ;  and  the  latter  had  followed  her  husband,  as  Agatha 
did  me.  When  Poyntz  reached  the  brink  of  the  pool, 
the  young  fisherman  had  just  risen  for  the  second  time, 
and  was  circling  helplessly  in  the  eddy.  Poyntz  sprang 
forward  ;  but  his  foot  catching  in  a  vine,  he  fell  prone, 
his  head  in  the  water  and  the  rest  of  his  body  on  dry 
land. 

Before  he  could  disentangle  himself  (an  operation 
which  the  well-meant  but  too  convulsive  efforts  of  Mrs. 
Poyntz  only  served  to  retard)  the  child  had  drifted  into 
the  current  and  was  carried  over  the  fall.  It  was  now 
that  Agatha  and  I  first  caught  sight  of  him.  She 
pressed  impulsively  forward,  and  had  I  not  retained  her 
would  have  leaped  into  the  headlong  rapids  herself.  As 
I  caught  her  arm,  I  felt  rather  than  saw  her  glance  at 
me,  as  though  measuring  rny  ability  to  do  what  must  be 
done.  Apparently  her  decision  was  in  my  favor,  for  she 
stepped  back  ;  and  an  instant  after  I  was  staggering 
breast  deep  in  the  boiling  stream,  watching  the  swift  but 
topsy-turvy  onset  of  Master  Peter.  Down  he  swept  ; 
and  to  make  a  long  story  short,  1  succeeded  in  catching 
hold  of  him  without  losing  my  footing,  and  thereby  in 
saving  his  life  and  my  own.  Agatha  helping  from  the 
bank,  we  were  soon  landed  high  and  dry,  or  rather,  very 
wet.  Then  ensued  a  great  and  indescribable  hullaballoo, 
wherein  the  first  distinguishable  words  burst  from  Mr. 
Poyntz  : 

"  Look  ye  here,  wife  !"  cried  he,  laughing  and  weep- 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  67 

ing  in  the  same  breath,  "  look  if  the  lad  hasn't  stuck  to 
his  fish  through  it  all  !" 

And  so  it  proved  ;  Peter  had  rivalled  the  childish  ex 
ploit  of  his  predecessor,  stout  little  Kit  North.  There 
was  the  rod,  still  lightly  gripped  in  his  small  fist  ;  and  a 
three-pound  trout  was  flapping  and  gasping  at  the  end 
of  the  line. 

"  He's  but  a  chip  of  the  old  block,  Mr.  Poyntz,"  said 
I,  when  the  shouts  that  greeted  the  discovery  had  some 
what  subsided.  "  What  is  that  sticking  in  the  corner  of 
your  mouth  ?" 

The  old  mariner  put  up  his  hand  and  took  the  thing 
out,  and  after  staring  at  it  for  a  moment  in  comical  dis 
may,  he  burst  into  a  laugh,  in  which  everybody  joined. 
It  was  the  stem  of  his  well-loved  meerschaum,  held  un 
consciously  between  his  teeth  throughout  the  entire 
turmoil  ;  the  bowl  had  probably  been  snapped  off  when 
he  fell  on  the  brink  of  the  pool.  So  we  all  retraced  our 
way  to  the  house,  the  trout  resting  triumphantly  in 
Peter's  arms,  who  was  himself  carried  by  his  father. 
Agatha  and  I  walked  side  by  side  ;  neither  spoke  to  the 
other,  and  1  knew  not  what  thoughts  were  in  her  mind  ; 
but  for  my  own  part  I  had  never  been  more  light  of 
heart,  and  1  regarded  Peter  and  his  trout  as  the  best 
friends  that  ever  lover  had.  My  achievement  had  been 
trifling  enough,  heaven  knows  ;  but  such  as  it  was,  it 
had  been  done  before  her  eyes,  and  partly  at  least  for 
her  sake.  When  we  had  reached  the  house  door,  and 
the  others  had  passed  in  before  us,  she  paused  on  the 
threshold  and  turned  to  me,  smiling,  with  her  finger 
upon  the  necklace-clasp. 

"  I  kissed  it  to  save  you  ...  and  Peter  !"  she  added, 
hastily,  and  with  a  light  in  her  dark  eyes  that  was  half 
mischievous,  half  earnest. 


68  THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

"  And  now  that  we're  saved,  I  suppose  yon  are  going 
to  kiss  .  .  .  Peter?"  I  dared  to  reply,  for  my  duck 
ing  had  given  me  courage. 

She  blushed,  but  looked  straight  at  me  ;  and  the  next 
moment  was  gone  into  the  house,  leaving  me  uncertain 
whether  I  had  gone  too  far  or  not  far  enough.  But, 
ah  !  happy  Peter.  A  few  bruises,  and  the  involuntary 
swallowing  of  a  gallon  or  two  of  water,  were  the  extent 
of  his  injuries  ;  while  his  blessings  were  beyond  estima 
tion.  When  I  came  down-stairs  half  an  hour  later,  after 
changing  my  clothes,  I  found  him  bundled  up  in  an  old 
pea-jacket  of  his  father's,  and  sitting  in  Agatha's  arms. 
He  wras  watching  his  mother  clean  the  big  trout,  the 
prize  of  his  valor  ;  and  as  I  passed  by,  Agatha  glanced 
up  at  me  and  kissed  him  ! 

I  stole  oufc  by  the  kitchen  door  and  looked  about  for 
Mr.  Poyntz  ;  for  his  yarn  had,  for  several  reasons,  begun 
to  interest  me  exceedingly,  and  I  was  most  anxious  to 
hear  the  end  of  it.  But  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen  ;  ho 
had  gone  off  to  attend  to  something  on  the  farm,  and 
would  as  likely  as  not  be  absent  till  supper-time.  It  was 
a  long  time  till  then,  and  meanwhile  I  was  without  any 
thing  to  amuse  me.  My  mind  was  restless  and  excited, 
and  I  would  have  been  thankful  for  any  distraction. 
Nothing  turned  up,  however,  and  at  length — without 
being  at  the  pains  even  to  notice  what  direction  I  was 
taking — 1  set  off  on  an  objectless  tramp,  and  was  soon 
out  of  sight  of  the  farm-house. 

I  had  plenty  to  think  about — so  much,  indeed,  that  1 
could  think  coherently  about  nothing.  Ideas  crowded 
incongruously  upon  one  another,  now  this  one  and  now 
that  catching  my  attention  for  a  moment,  and  then 
receding  to  the  background.  From  the  picture  of  my 
late  adventure  in  the  mill-stream,  I  slid  to  a  review  of 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  69 

Agatha — my  relations  with  her  ;  did  she  care  for  me  ? 
had  my  lucky  exploit  really  advantaged  me  ?  and  ought 
1  to  have  stolen  a  kiss  upon  the  doorstep  ?  Instead  of 
considering  these  questions,  I  was  pondering  the  tale 
which  Poyntz  had  begun  to  tell.  Was  it  ail  true  ?  would 
he  ever  finish  it  ?  and  what  would  be  its  upshot  ?  But 
now  the  pearl-shell  necklace  ruled  my  thoughts.  Was 
it  possibly  the  same  as  that  which  my  great-grandmother 
had  lost  ?  and  if  so,  would  Agatha  be  likely  to  know 
anything  about  it  ?  The  next  moment  a  vision  of 
Scholar  Gloam  had  risen  before  me.  How  had  he  come 
to  die,  and  be  buried  beneath  the  Black  Oak  ?  and  why 
was  the  old  mill  considered  haunted  ?  David — the  hand 
some  housekeeper's  son — what  had  become  of  him  ?  and, 
above  all,  what  had  been  the  fate  of  the  little  sea- 
nymph  ?  Then  the  necklace  once  more — how  came 
Agatha  to  attach  such  talismanic  virtues  to  it  ?  and  was 
not  her  doing  so  evidence  that  she  must  know  its  ancient 
history  ?  Again,  was  Agatha  Poyntz's  own  daughter  ? 
and  if  so,  who  and  what  had  been  her  mother  ?  for  she 
must  be  the  child  of  a  union  prior  to  that  which  had 
resulted  in  Peter.  The  speculation  gave  place  in  turn 
to  the  idea  of  the  mill-wheel  possessed  by  the  devil,  or 
by  the  soul  of  the  murdered  miller — Poyntz  had  seemed 
uncertain  which.  Had  its  "  laugh"  really  been  so  terri 
ble  ?  or  had  not  an  originally  harmless,  if  disagreeable 
noise  acquired  a  supernatural  horror  only  because  list 
ened  to  across  a  gap  of  twenty  years  ?  Ah  well,  what 
matter  to  me  'were  all  these  idle,  unanswerable  queries  ? 
Behind  all  things — before  all  things,  I  seemed  to  meet 
the  sweet  fascination  of  Agatha's  dark  eyes,  and  to  catch 
the  gleam  of  her  yellow  hair.  Yes,  ever  and  ever,  as 
the  pendulum  swings  outward  and  returns,  does  my 
thought  come  back  to  Agatha  ! 


70  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

Immersed  in  such  disjointed  musings,  I  had  journeyed 
on  1  know  not  how  long,  when  all  at  once  I  became  con 
scious,  so  to  speak,  of  the  outward  world,  and  looked  up 
and  on  all  sides  of  me.  Where  was  I  ?  In  no  place 
certainly  that  I  had  ever  visited  before.  The  sea  was 
nowhere  visible  ;  the  surface  of  the  ground  was  rocky 
and  irregular,  and  in  nearly  every  direction  the  view  was 
shut  in  by  thick  growths  of  pine,  birch,  and  oak.  From 
beyond  a  clump  pf  the  latter,  southward  from  where  I 
stood,  I  thought  I  detected  the  noise  of  falling  water  ; 
and  glancing  eastward,  I  could  trace  the  course  of  a 
stream  which  was  itself  unseen,  by  the  hedge  of  stunted 
timber  that  fringed  its  banks.  »  The  aspect  of  the  neigh 
borhood  was  wild  and  remote  ;  it  seemed  to  lie  apart 
from  men's  ways  ;  and  certainly  he  would  have  been  an 
unsocial  spirit  who  should  have  chosen  such  a  spot  to 
live  in.  On  the  other  hand,  any  one  in  search  of  a  good, 
place  to  do  a  murder  in,  or  hold  a  witch  meeting,  need 
not  have  looked  further.  A  corpse  might  lie  among 
these  rocks  and  bushes  for  twenty  years  without  a  chance 
of  being  discovered  ;  and  ghosts  and  witches  might 
scream  their  eiriest  unheard  by  mortal  ear. 

Meanwhile  1  walked  on  to  the  other  side  of  the  clump 
of  oak  trees,  when  I  suddenly  found  myself  gazing  on  a 
scene  that  involuntarily  brought  ine  to  a  standstill. 


Y. 

1  WAS  now  standing  on  the  bank  of  a  stream  which, 
coming  from  the  west,  took  its  course  past  my  feet  east 
ward.  For  some  distance  its  approach  was  between 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  71 

gradually  rising  walls  of  rock,  which  were  highest  just 
where  I  stood.  Thence  was  a  precipitous  descent  into  a 
small  gorge  about  one  hundred  paces  in  length,  whose 
steep  sides  opened  out  toward  the  east,  their  meeting- 
point  being  my  present  station.  Through  the  natural 
gateway  which  it  had  cut  for  itself  in  the  face  of  the 
precipice,  the  stream  fell  cataract-wise  into  a  deep  pool 
below,  whence  overflowing  it  rushed  down  a  rugged  in 
cline,  and,  having  leaped  another  fall,  raced  along  the 
middle  of  the  little  glen,  and  so  hurried  with  foam  and 
noise  onward  to  the  sea. 

There  were  vestiges  of  a  rude  bridge,  long  since 
broken  down,  across  the  natural  gateway  just  men 
tioned  ;  and  I  even  fancied  that  I  could  detect  traces  of 
an  ancient  footpath  which  had  its  beginning  somewhere 
in  the  west,  and,  crossing  the  stream  at  this  point,  had 
then  clambered  down  the  slope  to  the  bottom  of  the 
gorge.  The  bridge  had  not  been  entirely  of  stone  ;  but 
a  stout  plank  had  probably  spanned  the  flood,  secured  at 
either  end  by  rough  masonry.  It  must  have  been  a 
ticklish  passage  without  a  handrail,  for  a  false  step,  fol 
lowed  by  a  plunge  over  the  cataract,  would  have  been 
almost  certain  death.  If  Master  Peter  had  tumbled  in 
here  instead  of  at  the  other  pool  miles  lower  down,  not 
Poyntz,  nor  Agatha,  nor  I,  nor  all  the  luck  in  the  world 
could  have  got  him  out  alive. 

The  hollow  of  the  gorge  was  much  overgrown  with 
bushes  and  brambles,  and  along  the  margin  of  the  noisy 
stream  the  grass  was  high  and  rank.  At  the  opening  of 
the  little  valley  farthest  from  where  I  stood  rose  an  im 
mense  oak  tree — the  only  tree  of  anything  like  its  size  to 
be  seen  within  a  mile — whose  wide-spreading  branches 
cast  a  deep  shadow  on  the  earth  beneath.  So  thickly 
clustered  the  leaves  on  the  stalwart  boughs,  and  so  dark 


?•>  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

was  their  tint  of  green,  the  whole  great  tree  seemed  to 
have  been  steeped  in  night.  The  gorge,  though  full  of 
sunlight  and  verdure,  and  vocal  with  the  splash  of  the 
cataracts,  wrought  on  me  even  at  the  first  glance  an  im 
pression  of  loneliness  and  desolation.  The  blue  sky 
seemed  farther  away  from  this  than  from  other  parts  of 
the  earth's  surface,  and  methought  the  sun  shone  upon 
it  rather  in  mockery  than  in  love. 

Nearly  midway  down  the  hollow,  and  just  under  the 
second  cataract,  hung  a  huge  water-wheel.  It  hung 
there  motionless,  and  plainly  many  a  year  had  passed 
since  it  had  revolved  upon  its  ponderous  axle.  It  was 
built  of  wood,  on  a  clumsy  and  old-fashioned  model,  and 
had  become  so  blackened  by  age  and  weather  that  one 
might  have  fancied  it  charred  by  fire.  Its  parts  were 
fastened  together  with  great  nails  and  clamps  of  iron,  the 
strength  of  which,  however,  was  now  but  a  deceptive 
appearance,  for  the  metal  was  eaten  away  by  red  rust,  so 
that  a  hearty  shake  would  probably  have  caused  the 
whole  structure  to  tumble  into  ruin.  The  rain  and  snow 
of  unrecorded  seasons  had  spread  the  rust  in  streaks  and 
blotches  over  the  swarthy  rottenness  of  the  woodwork, 
until  I  could  almost  have  believed  it  dabbled  with  un 
sightly  stains  of  blood. 

Side  by  side  with  these  ominous  discolorations,  how 
ever,  were  growing  patches  of  tender  green  moss  ;  and 
thick  tufts  of  grass  bent  gracefully  over  the  heavy  rim 
of  the  wheel,  where  it  impended  above  the  rushing 
water.  A.  delicate  vine  of  convolvulus  had  become  rooted 
somewhere  above,  and  had  wreathed  itself  in  and  out 
among  the  rigid  spokes.  It  seemed  as  though  nature 
were  striving,  with  but  partial  success,  to  win  back  to 
her  own  fresh  bosom  this  gaunt  relic  of  man's  handi 
work.  With  but  partial  success  ;  for  all  the  magic  of 


THE   PEARL-SHELL  KECKLACE.  73 

lier  beautiful  adornments  could  not  annul  the  odd  feel 
ing  of  repulsion — or  was  it  perverted  fascination  ? — with 
which  this  sullen  wheel  began  to  aft'ect  me.  I  know  not 
how  to  interpret,  even  to  my  own  mind,  the  nature  of 
this  impression.  Solitary  as  I  stood  there,  I  yet  could 
not  rid  myself  of  the  notion  that  I  was  not  (in  the  ordi 
nary  sense  of  the  word)  alone.  That  wheel — there  was 
something  about  it  more  than  belongs  to  mere  negative 
brute  matter.  It  seemed  not  devoid  of  a  low  and  evil 
form  of  consciousness — almost  of  personality.  I  recog 
nized  the  morbid  extravagance  of  the  idea  at  the  same 
time  that  I  was  po\verless  to  do  away  with  it.  Every 
one,  probably,  has  had  some  similar  experience  ;  and  the 
fact  that  reason  cannot  account  for  the  sensation  does  not 
lessen  its  impressiveness. 

The  wheel  had  caught  my  eye  from  the  first,  and,  as 
it  were,  commanded  my  main  attention.  But  after  a 
few  minutes  I  looked  away  from  it,  not  without  a  con 
scious  effort  of  will,  and  gave  a  closer  examination  to 
other  objects  in  the  glen.  The  mill  to  which  the  wheel 
appertained  stood  on  the  right  bank  of  the  stream,  but 
was  now  little  more  than  a  heap  of  ruins.  The  wooden 
part  was  wholly  decayed,  and  the  stone  foundations  were 
displaced  and  shattered,  and  covered  with  weeds  and 
rubbish.  A  few  paces  farther  back,  huddled  against  the 
southern  acclivity  of  the  gorge,  was  the  carcass  of  a  dis 
mantled  and  deserted  house.  The  roof  had  fallen  in, 
the  window  frames  and  sashes  were  gone,  and  the  lifeless 
rooms  stood  open  to  the  air.  The  stone  walls  had  for 
merly  been  overlaid  with  plaster,  but  this  had  mostly 
fallen  away,  and  what  patches  remained  here  and  there 
were  stained  with  greenish  mould.  A  tall  clump  of 
barberry  bushes  was  growing  just  within  the  threshold 
of  the  doorway,  as  if  to  dispute  the  entrance  of  any 


7i  THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

chnnce  intruder  ;  and  a  vigorous  plantation  of  some 
species  of  yellow  flowers  was  waving  above  the  remains 
of  the  chimney.  The  spectacle  was  in  every  respect 
forlorn  and  depressing  ;  no  barren  desert,  that  had  never 
been  trodden  by  the  foot  of  man,  could  have  so  repelled 
and  saddened  the  observer.  Man  feels  no  sympathy  for 
what  has  never  known  life  ;  but  that  which  once  has 
lived  and  now  is  dead,  yet  retains  in  death  some  sem 
blance  of  its  extinct  vitality — that  it  is  which  brings  the 
true  feeling  of  desolation  home  to  us. 

After  a  time  I  climbed  cautiously  down  from  my 
coign  of  vantage,  and  making  my  way  between  loose 
stones  and  tangled  shrubbery,  1  passed  the  black  wheel 
and  arrived  at  length  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  great 
oak.  And  here,  for  the  first  time,  I  began  to  feel  very 
weary,  with  a  weariness  as  much  of  the  mind  as  of  the 
body.  In  fact,  what  with  my  adventure  with  Peter,  my 
long  walk,  and  the  excitement  produced  by  old  Jack 
Poyntz's  strange  yarn,  I  had  been  through  a  good  deal 
for  an  invalid,  and  had  earned  the  right  to  a  little  rest. 
Looking  about  for  a  seat,  my  eye  fell  upon  a  small 
mound  which  lay  between  me  and  the  base  of  the  oak, 
with  a  bit  of  gray  stone  jutting  out  from  one  end  of  it. 
It  might  once  have  been  a  bench  ;  at  all  events,  it  would 
serve  my  turn,  so  I  threw  myself  down  at  full  length 
and  pillowed  my  head  and  shoulders  against  it.  As  I 
lay,  my  face  was  turned  toward  the  open  end  of  the 
gorge,  and  away  from  the  house  and  mill-wheel.  These, 
however,  dwelt  in  my  memory  ;  and  on  closing  my  eyes, 
1  found  that  the  scene  of  the  ruin  stood  distinctly  before 
my  mental  sight,  more  weird  than  the  reality,  because 
the  phantom  sunshine  appeared  pallid  and  ineffective. 

The  sound  of  a  breeze  stirring  amid  the  thick  leaves 
over  my  head  mingled  with  the  gurgle  of  the  stream, 


THE   PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE.  75 

until  it  seemed  as  if  some  voice  were  speaking  in  a  low 
minor  key — a  tone  without  passion  and  without  hope. 
As  1  listened,  and  fancifully  attempted  to  fashion  words 
and  sentences  out  of  the  inarticulate  murmur,  that  odd 
sensation  of  not  being  alone  (which  had  all  along  been 
hovering  about  me)  suddenly  intensified  itself  to  the 
pitch  of  conviction.  Sitting  up  with  something  of  a 
start,  1  glanced  nervously  toward  the  mill,  and  at  once 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  my  conviction  justified.  Tho 
figure  of  a  man  was  actually  standing  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  stream,  one  hand  resting  upon  the  wheel, 
while  he  fixed  upon  me  the  gaze  of  a  pair  of  black  eyes. 
He  had  probably  been  there  from  the  first,  or  if  not 
precisely  there,  then  in  the  near  vicinity  ;  there  were, 
hiding-places  enough  among  the  ruins.  Nevertheless  I 
felt  an  unreasonable  anger  against  him.  He  had  como 
upon  me  unawares  ;  and  a  surprise,  if  it  be  not  agree 
able,  is  apt  to  be  very  much  the  reverse. 

lie  was  a  person  of  medium  height,  perhaps  a  little 
below  it,  and  was  clad  in  a  shabby  old-fashioned  coat 
and  small-clothes.  He  wore  no  hat,  and  the  black  hair 
which  grew  thickly  upon  his  high  head  was  curiously 
variegated  with  large  patches  of  white.  His  counte 
nance  showed  refinement  and  sensitiveness  ;  but  the  ex 
pression  stamped  upon  it  was  singularly  painful.  I  can 
not  better  describe  it  than  by  saying  that  it  seemed  to 
indicate  loss — loss  beyond  remedy  either  in  this  world  or 
the  next.  Its  effect  upon  me  resembled  that  wrought 
by  the  desolate  house,  but  was  more  potent,  because 
humanized.  The  man  seemed  beyond  middle  age,  judg 
ing  from  the  furrows  on  his  brow  and  the  stoop  on  his 
shoulders  :  and  yet  there  was  a  kind  of  immaturity  in 
his  aspect.  He  was  as  one  whose  intellectual  much  out 
weighed  his  actual  experience  ;  who  had  dwelt  amid 


?G  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

theories  and  eschewed  reality.  Such  a  combination  of 
age  and  youth  needs  a  strong  seasoning  of  sincerity  and 
simplicity  to  make  it  palatable  ;  but  in  the  present  case 
these  qualities  were  wanting,  and  instead  there  was  an 
indefinable  flavor  of  moral  perversion. 

When  we  had  regarded  each  other  for  several  mo 
ments,  the  man  crossed  the  mill-race  and  advanced 
toward  me,  making  a  gesture  of  greeting  with  his  hand. 
Ills  manner  was  well-bred  and  quiet,  and  left  no  doubt 
that  lie  was  a  gentleman  ;  notwithstanding  which  I  felt 
an  antipathy  against  him,  and  was  half -minded  to  ad 
monish  him  that  his  presence  was  unwelcome.  That  I 
did  not  yield  to  this  impulse  was  due,  perhaps,  less  to 
courtesy  than  to  the  strong  sentiment  of  curiosity  with 
which  the  stranger  had  already  inspired  me.  In  other 
words,  he  was  a  magnet  that  attracted  me  with  one  pole 
while  repelling  me  with  the  other  ;  and  the  attraction 
was,  for  the  moment,  the  stronger  force  of  the  two. 

At  this  juncture  it  occurred  to  me — I  know  not  how  1 
had  failed  to  think  of  it  before — that  these  ruins  must  be 
what  was  left  of  the  Laughing  Mill,  to  which  Poyntz 
had  made  allusion  in  his  interrupted  yarn.  The  recog 
nition  gave  me  a  thrill  of  a  kind  not  altogether  agree 
able  ;  I  was  glad  that  the  sun  shone  instead  of  the  moon. 
Nor  did  I,  under  these  changed  conditions,  so  much 
regret  the  presence  of  a  companion.  I  was  in  a  nervous 
and  abnormal  state,  and  though  far  from  superstitious — 
no  lawyer  could  venture  to  be  that — I  preferred  society 
to  solitude  in  a  place  which  had  the  reputation  of  being 
haunted.  It  was  healthier  to  converse  about  such  fol 
lies — even  with  an  unsympathetic  interlocutor — than  to 
brood  over  them  in  private.  This  old-fashioned  per 
sonage,  moreover,  had  the  air  of  being  familiar  with  the 
neighborhood  ;  perhaps  he  was  in  the  habit  of  coming 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  77 

here,  and  could  give  me  some  information  about  its 
former  inhabitants— Scholar  Gloam  and  the  rest.  I  re 
pented  my  former  rude  intentions,  and  resolved  to  bo 
friends  with  him,  and  draw  him  out.  Accordingly  I 
returned  his  salute,  and  commanded  my  features  to  an 
expression  of  affability. 


VI. 


WITHIN  about  three  paces  of  me  he  stopped,  and 
passed  his  hand  two  or  three  times  through  the  black 
and  white  masses  of  his  hair.  He  had  the  air  of  trying 
to  rouse  himself  from  a  mood  of  painful  preoccupation. 
At  length  he  spoke  in  a  faint,  unaccented  tone,  like  a 
voice  heard  far  off. 

"  1  want  your  sympathy,"  said  he. 

"  Have  we  met  before  ?"  1  asked,  rather  taken  aback. 
"  I  really  don't  remember — but  I  believe  I've  been  half 
asleep,  and  am  hardly  awake  yet." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  his  black  eyes  curiously 
perusing  my  face.  "  You  have  chosen  an  ill  place  to 
sleep  in,"  he  remarked,  after  a  pause.  "  Many  a  year 
have  I  sought  repose  ther.e — in  vain." 

"  Indeed  ?  Well,  I  came  here  quite  by  accident,  and 
judging  by  the  aspect  of  the  place,  1  shouldn't  have  sup 
posed  it  would  have  been  often  visited." 

"  You  are  right,  few  come  hither  now  ;  but  as  many 
as  do  so  are  liable  to  meet  with  me." 

I  looked  more  narrowly  at  my  queer  companion,  and 
all  at  once  the  thought  struck  me,  the  man  is  mad  ! 
Yes,  it  must  be  so.  How  otherwise  could  the  strange- 


78  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

ness  of  liis  appearance,  behavior,  and  conversation  be 
accounted  for  ?  He  did  not  look  dangerous  ;  probably 
lie  was  some  harmless  crazy  creature,  incapable  of  doing 
harm,  and  therefore  permitted  to  wander  about  as  he 
liked.  In  the  moral  atmosphere  of  these  ruins  he  was 
sensible  of  somewhat  congenial  to  his  own  forlornness, 
and  hence  haunted  them  rather  than  any  more  cheerful 
spot.  Certainly,  this  was  an  appropriate  haunt  for  a 
madman — for  one  whose  mind  had  fallen  into  that 
ugliest  chaos  which  was  once  beauty  and  order.  But  I 
liked  the  spectacle  of  mental  even  less  than  that  of  mate 
rial  decay  ;  and  though  the  poor  gentleman  had  asked 
me  for  my  sympathy,  I  scarcely  knew  how  to  give  it  to 
him. 

By  I  know  not  what  faculty  of  divination,  he  ap 
peared  to  suspect  what  was  passing  in  my  mind. 

'*  I  am  not  mad,"  he  said,  quietly,  but  with  a  tremor 
of  the  finely  cut  though  irresolute  lips.  "  I  am  not 
mad,  I  have  passed  beyond  insanity.  Let  me  sit  down 
here  and  talk  to  you.  Nay — do  not  rise  !  Recline  as 
you  were  doing,  and  close  your  eyes  if  you  will ;  I  need 
only  your  ears." 

While  speaking  thus  he  passed  behind  me,  and  appar 
ently  seated  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  oak  tree,  outside 
of  my  range  of  vision.  But  no  sooner  was  he  out  of 
plain  sight,  than  I  was  seized  with  an  odd  fantasy  that 
he  had  actually  vanished  into  thin  air,  and  that  were  I 
to  look  round,  I  should  not  find  him.  His  voice  only 
was  left,  and  even  that  now  seemed  unearthly.  Was  it 
a  human  voice  ?  and  not  rather  the  rustling  of  leaves  and 
the  gurgling  of  water,  translated  by  my  feverish  imagi 
nation  into  weird  speech  ? 

"  You  were  dreaming,"  resumed  the  voice  ;  li  what 
dreams  had  you  of  the  wheel  T ' 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  79 

"  What  dreams  had  I  of  the  wheel  ?"  I  repeated, 
leaning  back  on  the  mound,  and  clasping  my  hands 
across  my  eyes.  Here  was  another  instance  of  my  new 
friend's  insight.  *How  had  he  known  that  the  wheel 
was  in  my  thoughts  at  all  ?  Yet  it  was  true  that  I  had 
given  rein  to  all  sorts  of  fanciful  speculations  concerning 
it,  and  was  now,  moreover,  quite  in  the  mood  to  give 
them  utterance.  And  what  better  auditor  could  I  desire 
than  a  madman,  whom  the  wildest  extravagance  could 
not  disconcert,  nor  the  most  palpable  absurdities  an 
noy  ?  The  opportunity  was  too  fair  to  lose. 

u  What  dreamt  I  of  the  wheel  ?"  I  exclaimed  again  ; 
"  I  dreamt  it  was  the  mighty  Wheel  of  Fortune,  who, 
weary  of  trundling  it  about  the  world,  had  left  it  here 
amid  the  sedge  and  spray  of  the  waterfall.  Henceforth, 
therefore,  there  shall  be  no  more  ups  and  downs  in  life, 
but  mankind  shall  move  forever  across  one  level  plain, 
unchecked  by  darkness  and  uncheered  by  light  !" 

"  Would  you  have  it  thus  ?" 

"  Oh,  no — not  I  !  Come  back,  fair  goddess  !  come 
back  and  wrest  thy  wheel  from  amid  those  clinging  vines 
and  brambles — the  arms  wherewith  reluctant  nature 
strives  to  hold  it  back  !  Bring  it  forth  once  again  upon 
the  dusty  road,  and  turn  it  as  you  go,  lest  our  sluggish 
hearts  forget  to  beat,  and  we  cease  to  draw  the  very 
breath  of  life,  and  our  souls,  torpid  and  uninspired, 
grovel  earthward,  nor  dream  of  climbing  higher  than 
themselves  !  Bring  forth  thy  wheel,  and  turn  it  forever 
even  as  the  world  turns  ;  for  thy  fickleness  is  the  life  of 
our  lives  !" 

u  Hetl links  the  wheel  of  misfortune  were  its  truer 
title  ;  for  it  turns  ever  between  a  fool  above  and  a 
corpse  beneath  ;  and  the  laugh  of  madness  sounds  be 
fore,  and  behind  is  a  track  of  blood  !" 


80  THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

"  !N"ay,  name  it  how  you  will  ;  since  all  of  1mm an  joy 
and  grief,  and  life  and  death,  have  clustered  round  its 
course,  as  the  moss  and  the  vines  qjuster  about  it  now. 
See  how  nature  seeks  to  make  the  awful  symbol  of  des- 

•/ 

tiny  into  a  plaything  for  her  own  beautiful  idleness  ! 
How  fearlessly  the  light  and  shadow  rest  upon  it  !  Yet 
it  is  bloodstained.  Those  rank  ferns  bend  and  peer  in 
quest  of  some  lurking  horror.  What  is  it  ?  I  feel  its 
influence  upon  me." 

"  Ay,  you  feel  it  !"  murmured  my  unseen  compan 
ion,  tremulously  ;  "  how  could  you  help  but  feel  it  ?  Do 
not  the  tragedies  of  human  life  instil  their  essence  into 
the  things  we  call  inanimate  ?  You  have  shuddered 
when  handling  the  rack  and  the  Iron  Virgin  of  the  In 
quisition,  and  felt  faint  at  the  sight  of  the  guillotine  and 
the  gallows.  You  were  awed  by  an  evil  influence 
breathed  from  the  actual  wood  and  iron — not  by  the 
mere  knowledge  of  ghastly  scenes  in  which  they  had 
borne  a  part. " 

"  How  came  the  influence  there  ?"  I  asked,  humoring 
his  grotesque  theory. 

''  That  which  has  existed  in  an  atmosphere  of  revenge, 
hatred,  and  despair,  becomes  at  last  impregnated  with  a 
malignant  intelligence  derived  from  them  ;  an  intelli 
gence  both  devilish  in  itself  and  able  to  endow  you  with 
its  own  deformity.  And  if  you  hold  not  aloof  from  it, 
you  shall  surely  be  destroyed — in  soul,  if  not  in  body 
likewise  !" 

u  But  do  we  feel  this  influence  unless  aware  before 
hand  that  it  is  there  ?" 

"  Fix  your  thought  constantly  upon  yonder  wheel," 
was  the  reply,  "  and  mark  if  it  does  not  answer  you." 

Still  with  my  hands  clasped  across  my  eyes,  I  concen 
trated  my  mind  as  directed,  and  presently  felt  my  veins 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  bl 

crawl  with  a  slow  chill  of  dismay — a  chill  which  deprived 
me  of  control  over  my  faculties,  while  awakening  them 
to  unnatural  activity.  That  the  wheel  had  a  conscious 
personality,  instinct  with  evil,  seemed  no  longer  open  to 
doubt.  Now  the  plash  and  gurgle  of  the  water  changed 
to  the  stealthy  drip  of  blood  ;  and  1  shrank  from  the 
breeze  that  moved  my  hair  as  from  a  pestilential  breath. 
Was  I  going  mad  too  ?  My  will  seemed  to  falter  ;  a 
tremor  which  I  could  not  repress  passed  through  me 
from  head  to  foot. 

"  Ay,  you  feel  it,"  murmured  the  voice  again  ;  u  you 
are  answered  !" 

By  a  determined  effort  I  regained  command  of  my 
self  ;  perhaps  it  was  none  too  soon.  Nothing  is  easier 
than  to  indulge  this  morbid  vein,  and  few  indulgences, 
I  believe,  are  more  perilous.  With  my  change  of  mood 
came  a  change  of  tone  ;  I  cast  aside  the  hysteric  style, 
and  adopted  one  more  brusque  and  matter-of-fact,  to 
which  the  reaction  from  sentimentality  may  have  added 
a  touch  of  asperity. 

"  Come,  come  !"  1  said,  "  we  are  overdoing  this  folly. 
I  know  well  enough  what  place  this  is  ;  Mr.  Poyntz 
began  to  tell  me  about  it  this  afternoon.  An  amusing 
story — all  about  the  Laughing  Mill,  and  the  fellow  who 
was  drowned,  and  the  nymph  of  the  pearl-shell  necklace 
— you  see  I  know  what  1  am  talking  about  !  But  the 
tale  broke  off  in  the  middle  ;  perhaps  you  can  finish  it  ?' ' 

"  It  is  you  who  must  finish  it  I1'  returned  the  other. 
"  But  I  want  your  sympathy  ;  so  let  me  tell  my  part." 

"  Do  so,"  said  1,  by  all  means.  "  When  1  know  you 
better,  I  shall  be  better  able  to  sympathize  with  you. 
As  to  my  finishing  the  story,  I  think  I'm  more  likely  to 
succeed  as  a  listener  than  as  a  narrator  ;  however,  if  it 
must  be  so,  I'll  give  it  the  best  ending  I  can.  And  I  do 


83  THE   PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE. 

sympathize  with  you  already,"  I  added,  after  a  pause, 
in  a  less  flippant  tone.  "  I  am  a  man,  and  I  believe  in 
human  brotherhood." 

My  eccentric  companion  made  no  rejoinder,  though  I 
fancied  he  gave  a  sigh.  Presently  he  began  to  speak  in 
the  same  evenly-pitched,  far-away  voice  that  he  had  used 
throughout.  The  effect  was  rather  as  of  a  weary  reader 
reading  from  a  book  than  as  of  one  who  talks  spontane 
ously.  There  was  no  hesitation,  no  rise  and  fall,  no  fire, 
no  faltering.  Yet  the  recital  moved  me  more  deeply 
than  if  it  had  been  delivered  with  impassioned  eloquence. 
Through  the  sad  colorless  medium  I  seemed  to  behold 
the  direct  movement  of  events,  and  almost  to  take  part 
in  them.  Moreover,  as  the  narrator  proceeded,  the 
notion  more  than  once  possessed  me  that  his  words 
reached  my  ears  from  some  inward  source — that  I  was 
merely  thinking  the  things  1  seemed  to  hear.  His  tone 
was  so  attuned  to  the  desolateness  of  the  surroundings, 
as  to  appear  like  the  mystic  interpretation  of  their  signifi 
cance,  such  as  might  result  from  intense  brooding  over 
them.  Indeed,  taking  into  consideration  all  that  I  had 
seen,  heard,  and  fancied  that  day,  I  almost  believe  I 
could  have  fallen  asleep  and  dreamed  just  such  a  story  as 
he  told  me.  Certainly  no  dream  could  have  been  stran 
ger  than  the  things  he  told. 


VII. 


THEY  brought  the  yellow-haired  little  maiden  to  the 
mill  (ran  the  story),  and  Gloam  called  her  Swanhilda. 
Jacl,  the  old  housekeeper,  looked  at  her  sharply,  and 


THE   PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE.  83 

asked  what  good  such  a  little  creature  could  be  among 
poor  people  ?  the  girl  was  of  no  use  herself,  and  would 
only  hinder  those  who  had  to  work. 

Gleam  answered,  "  Heaven  has  sent  her  to  us.  She 
shall  be  our  inspiration,  and  the  symbol  of  our  good. 
Treat  her  with  reverence,  and  tenderly,  as  you  would 
treat  the  best  and  purest  aspiration  of  your  heart.  If  we 
wrong  her,  it  will  be  our  deadliest  sin.  If  we  cherish 
her,  the  sins  we  have  committed  may  be  forgiven  ur%" 

"  She  is  a  gentleman's  daughter,  at  all  events,"  said 
Jael.  "  Look  at  the  shape  of  her  hands  and  feet  !  No, 
she  never  worked,  nor  did  her  mother  before  her. 
Well,  maybe  her  family  will  come  after  her  some  day, 
and  pay  us  well  for  taking  care  of  her.  Or  who  knows 
but  she  may  turn  out  heiress  to  some  great  estate,  when 
she  grows  up  ?  If  that  were  so  ...  David,  son,  come 
hither.  See — she's  a  pretty  little  thing." 

Handsome  David  stooped  down  and  took  the  child's 
email  soft  hand.  "  And  so  she  is — a  little  beauty  !"  he 
exclaimed,  looking  into  her  blue  eyes.  Can't  speak 
English,  eh  ?  That's  a  pity  ;  but  live  and  learn.  Eight 
glad  am  I  that  you  brought  her  here,  sir,"  he  added,  to 
Gloam.  "  Where  did  you  pick  her  up  ?" 

"  She's  the  rainbow  after  the  storm,"  Gloam  an 
swered,  smiling.  "  But  I  shall  not  teach  her  English. 
Let  her  speak  only  the  language  which  she  has  brought 
with  her."  And  he  led  the  child  away. 

"  That  may  do  for  him,"  muttered  David,  "  but  it 
won't  do  for  me.  He  can  talk  with  her  and  I  can't  ;  so 
if  he  won't  teach  her  English  1  will.  Devil  take  me  if 
she  isn't  a  sweet  little  fairy  ;  and  she's  quite  enchanted 
the  Scholar  already.  He's  a  changed  man  since  yester 
day.  But  he  sha'n't  have  all  the  fun  to  himself." 

"She  looks  thirteen,   don't  you  think?"   said  Jael. 


84  THE   PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE. 

"  She  won't  be  a  child  much  longer,  David.  Why, 
come  three  years  or  so,  she'll  be  old  enough  to  be  mar 
ried." 

"  Ay,  old  woman  ;  but  1  shall  be  too  old  to  marry 
her,"  he  answered,  with  a  keen  look  and  a  laugh. 

"  1  tell  you,  son,  she's  a  lady,  and  good  enough  to 
mate  with  any  man." 

"  That's  your  notion,  and  likely  enough  it's  true. 
But  good  blood  isn't  all  1  want — I've  got  that  already, 
thanks  to  your  good  looks  ;  what  I  want  and  haven't  got 
is  money.  And  Miss  Swanhilda,  pretty  as  she  is,  has 
less  money  even  than  I." 

"  But  she  has  relations — rich  relations  ;  her  own 
father  and  mother  may  be  alive  for  all  we  know.  If  she 
was  saved  off  a  ship  where  all  the  rest  were  lost,  of 
course  there'll  be  no  telling  for  some  time  to  come. 
But  it's  worth  waiting  for." 

"  Did  no  papers  come  ashore — nothing  to  help  iden 
tify  her  ?" 

"  1  asked  Poyntz  that,''  said  Jael,  "  and  so  far  as  1 
can  make  out,  I  think  there  hasn't  been  anything." 

"  Well,  I'll  make  sure  of  that  next  time  1  go  over. 
We  might  advertise  in  the  foreign  papers  after  a  while. 
A  right  pretty  little  thing  she  is,  and  no  mistake.  But 
I'm  not  a-going  to  run  any  risks,  old  woman.  Supposing 
1  was  to  get  tied  down  to  her  for  life,  and  then  find  out 
that  she'd  got  nothing,  what  would  1  do  then  ?" 

"  There's  no  need  of  supposing  any  such  thing, 
David.  As  if  you  couldn't  make  the  girl  fond  of  you 
so  as  she  wouldn't  marry  any  but  you  ;  then  you'd  have 
her  safe,  and  if  all  turned  out  well,  'twould  be  time 
enough  to  put  the  ring  on  her  finger." 

"  Ay,  that's  about  the  idea,  i  suppose.  Well,  the 
Scholar's  got  the  start  of  us  now  ;  and  'twon't  do  to  let 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  85 

him  sec  what  we're  up  to  ;  luckily  he  never  did  see 
what's  going  on  under  his  nose.  By  the  way,  that's  a 
quaint  bit  of  a  necklace  the  child  wears  ;  may  haps  that'll 
help  us  to  find  out  something — " 

He  broke  off  suddenly,  with  an  oath,  and  he  and  his 
mother  stood  listening,  pale-faced.  His  eyes  were 
angry,  but  terror  lurked  in  those  of  the  woman. 

A  strange  jarring  sound  filled  the  air  ;  it  seemed  to 
come  from  every  side,  and  screamed  harshly  into  the 
listeners'  ears.  If  a  fiend  had  burst  into  a  long  iit  of 
malignant  laughter  close  at  hand  the  effect  could  not 
have  been  more  hateful  and  discordant. 

"  The  laugh  again  !"  David  muttered  between  his 
teeth.  "  It  would  be  just  our  luck  if  it  scared  our  best 
customer  away.  The  witch  take  me  if  I  don't  begin  to 
believe  it  is  the  soul  of  that  cursed  husband  of  yours, 
that  you  treated  so  affectionately.  I'll  swear  there's  not 
a  spot  of  rust  on  the  machinery  as  big  as  a  pin's  head." 

"  Oh,  son,  don't  look  that  way  at  me,"  said  the 
woman,  in  a  shaken  voice.  "  1  would  prevent  it  if  1 
could  ;  what  can  I  do  ?" 

"  You  might  jump  in  and  follow  your  husband  ; 
that's  what  he  wants,  I  suppose,"  returned  the  son, 
angrily.  "  It's  you  that  wronged  him,  not  I  ;  and  as 
long  as  you're  here  we'll  have  no  luck — that's  the  long 
and  short  of  it  !" 

The  laugh  had  died  away,  and  Jael,  pressing  her  hand 
above  her  head,  turned  aside  and  passed  out.  She  loved 
her  son,  and  would  have  shed  her  blood  for  him  ;  but 
this  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  spoken  thus. 

After  she  was  gone,  David  stood  at  the  window,  biting 
his  lips  and  muttering  to  himself.  Suddenly  he  heard 
Gloam's  step  behind  him,  and  looked  round  in  surprise. 

"  What  was  that  noise  ?"  Gloam  asked. 


8G  THE    PEAKL-SHELL   KECKLACE. 

"  Why,  nothing  new,  sir.  The  same  old  story. 
Something  wrong  with  the  wheel  again,  I  suppose." 

11 1  remember  no  such  sound  before,"  said  Gloam,  ex 
citedly.  "  It  is  hideous,  like  the  shriek  of  an  evil  spirit. 
Let  it  never  come  again — it  frightens  Swanhilda,  and 
comes  between  us  like  a  prophecy  of  woe.  Let  it  never 
come  again  !" 

"  You  have  taken  to  hearing  through  her  ears  and 
feeling  through  her  senses — that's  all  the  matter,"  an 
swered  David,  smiling.  "  It  sounds  bad  to  you  because 
it  makes  her  head  ache.  As  to  stopping  it,  I'd  do  so 
and  gladly  if  1  but  knew  how.  It  loses  us  half  our  cus 
tom,  for  folks  say  the  devil's  at  the  bottom  of  it,  sure 
enough  !" 

"It  is  a  wicked  sound!"  exclaimed  Gloam  again, 
"full  of  mockery  and  bitterness.  Swanhilda  was  born 
to  hear  divine  harmonies,  and  she  will  leave  us  if  we 
greet  her  with  such  hideous  discord." 

"  She  was  born  to  take  her  chance  with  the  rest  of  the 
world,  Mr.  Gloam,"  replied  the  younger  man,  in  a 
harder  tone.  Then  he  smiled  again,  and  added,  in  his 
muttering  way,  as  he  left  the  room,  u  She'll  get  used  to 
it  fast  enough,  never  fear. " 

But  a  long  time  passed  without  the  recurrence  of  the 
hateful  sound,  and  meanwhile  Swanhilda  was  recovering 
from  her  first  melancholy  and  home-sickness.  Gloam 
had  told  her  that  she  would  see  her  father  and  mother 
again  some  day,  and  by  degrees  her  anxiety  calmed  down 
to  a  quiet  and  not  uncheerful  expectation.  She  seemed 
to  know  little  of  the  history  of  her  family,  or  else  was 
averse  from  discussing  it  ;  for  amid  all  her  winning 
sweetness  and  pure  sincerity  she  retained  a  maidenly 
reserve  and  dignity  not  lightly  to  be  overcome.  But  the 
guileless  fascination  which  she  unconsciously  exercised 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  87 

upon  all  she  met  it  was  impossible  to  resist.  She  glad 
dened  all  eyes  and  hearts,  and  the  mill  became  a  store 
house  of  beauty  and  gladness  as  well  as  of  grain  and 
meal.  People  came  from  all  the  surrounding  neighbor 
hood  to  see  Scholar  Gloam's  water-nymph  ;  and  at  last, 
when  the  Laughing  Mill  was  mentioned,  they  thought  of 
Swanhilda's  airy  merriment — not  of  the  ill-omened  sound 
that  had  first  given  it  that  name,  but  was  already  being 
fast  forgotten.  So  the  prosperity  of  handsome  David 
increased,  and  was  greater  than  it  had  ever  been  before  ; 
he  had  as  many  customers  as  the  mill  could  supply,  and 
bade  fair,  in  the  course  of  years,  to  become  a  wealthy 
man.  He  and  Jael  treated  the  little  water-nymph  with 
every  kindness,  as  well  they  might  ;  and  what  Gloam 
had  said  seemed  likely  to  come  true — that  she  would  be 
the  means  of  their  regeneration. 

And  Gloam  himself  was  as  a  man  transfigured.  He 
lived  no  longer  amid  his  books,  but  made  himself  free  to 
all,  and  the  neighbors  wondered  to  find  him  so  genial 
and  gladsome.  He  and  Swanhilda  were  constantly  to 
gether  ;  they  played  and  laughed  like  children  ;  they 
wTent  on  long  rambles  hand  in  hand  ;  in  winter  they 
pelted  each  other  with  snowballs  ;  in  summer  and 
autumn  they  gathered  flowers  and  berries  and  nuts.  He 
treated  her  with  the  most  reverent  and  entire  affection  ; 
he  was  ready  to  sacrifice  anything  for  her  sake,  to  give 
her  anything — unless  it  were,  perhaps,  the  freedom  to 
be  to  another  all  that  she  was  to  him.  But  apparently 
she  was  well  content.  Gloarn  was  the  only  one  who 
spoke  her  language,  and  the  only  one,  therefore,  with 
whom  she  could  converse  unrestrainedly.  He  would 
not  teach  her  English,  and  if  others  attempted  to  do  so 
it  was  without  his  knowledge  or  consent.  He  believed, 
it  may  be,  that  no  one  but  himself  could  appreciate  her 


88  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

full  worth,  and  thought  it  would  be  a  kind  of  desecra 
tion  to  let  another  approach  her  too  nearly.  Certainly 
they  were  happy  together.  That  part  of  his  nature  to 
which  she  appealed  was  not  less  youthful  than  she  was 
herself  ;  and  in  her  society  he  felt  himself  immortally 
young.  He  forgot  that  there  were  lines  upon  his  brow, 
and  that  his  figure  was  bent,  and  that  his  hair  had  begun 
to  be  prematurely  white.  And  he  doubted  not  that  as 
he  felt,  so  he  seemed  to  her. 

Was  his  confidence  justified  ?  Had  this  child,  who 
was  just  beginning  to  be  a  young  woman,  penetration  to 
see  the  fresh  soul  within  the  imperfect  body  ?  A  more 
experienced  man  would  have  had  misgivings,  knowing 
that  young  women  are  apt  to  judge  by  appearances,  and 
to  be  more  swayed  by  downright  power  and  passion  than 
by  abstract  right  and  beauty.  But  Gleam's  experience 
had  not  taught  him  this.  He  did  not  dream  that  she 
could  ever  learn  to  deceive  him,  or  to  give  him  less  than 
the  first  place  in  her  heart.  But  he  dreamed  that  some 
clay,  distant  perhaps,  at  least  indefinite — they  would  be 
married.  By  all  rights  they  belonged  to  each  other,  and 
when  they  had  played  their  childish  games  to  the  end, 
and  had  wearied  of  them,  then  would  they  enter  upon 
that  new  phase  of  life.  Meanwhile  he  would  not  speak 
to  her  of  the  deeper  love,  lest  she  should  be  startled,  and 
the  frankness  of  their  present  intercourse  be  impaired. 
But  women  have  been  lost  ere  now  through  fear  of  start 
ling  them. 

So  more  than  two  years  slipped  away,  and  the  child 
Swanhilda  had  grown  to  be  a  tall  and  graceful  maiden  ; 
which  seemed  half  a  miracle,  so  quickly  had  the  time 
passed.  Her  blue  eyes  had  waxed  larger  and  deeper, 
and  in  moments  of  excitement  they  became  almost  black. 
Her  hair  was  yellow  as  an  evening  cloud  ;  her  face  and 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  89 

bearing  full  of  life  and  warmth.  Her  nature  was 
strengthening  and  expanding  ;  she  was  beginning  to 
measure  herself  against  her  associates.  Though  so 
gentle,  she  was  all  untamed  ;  no  one  had  ever  mastered 
or  controlled  her.  She  knew  neither  her  own  strength 
nor  weakness,  but  the  time  approached  when  she  would 
seek  to  know  them.  Every  woman  is  both  weaker  and 
stronger  than  she  believes,  and  it  is  well  for  her,  when 
the  trial  comes,  if  her  strength  be  not  the  betrayer  of 
her  weakness.  » 


YIII. 

AT  this  point  in  the  story  the  voice  of  the  narrator 
grew  fainter,  and  then  made  a  pause.  I  still  kept  my 
reclining  position,  with  my  hands  clasped  above  my 
closed  eyes.  In  fact,  it  would  have  required  a  greater 
effort  than  I  at  the  moment  cared  to  make  to  have  sat 
up  and  looked  about  me.  The  sun,  I  knew,  had  already 
sunk 'below  the  crest  of  the  slope  ;  the  gorge  lay  in 
shadow,  and  beneath  the  oak  it  was  almost  dark.  As  I 
lay  waiting  for  the  tale  to  recommence,  the  sombre  influ 
ence  of  the  wheel  asserted  itself  more  strongly  than 
ever.  There  it  loomed,  in  my  imagination,  black,  grim, 
and  portentous.  Its  huge  spokes  stretched  out  like  rigid 
arms,  and  the  long  grass  which  streamed  along  the  gur 
gling  water  resembled  the  hair  of  a  drowned  woman's 
head.  .  .  .  But  now  the  voice  began  again. 

One  summer  afternoon  Gloam  and  Swanhilda  were 
sitting  on  the  wooden  bench  beside  the  mill,  watching 
the  heavy  revolutions  of  the  great  wheel.  They  were 


90  THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

alone.  David  was  in  the  mill-room  finishing  the  clay's 
work,  and  Jacl  was  preparing  supper  in  the  kitchen. 
For  several  minutes  neither  of  them  had  spoken. 

"Do  you  remember,"  said  Swanhilda,  at  last,  using 
her  native  tongue,  "  the  first  day  I  came  here,  how  there 
came  a  terrible  sound  that  made  me  miserably  fright 
ened  ?  I  have  never  heard  it  since  then.  What  was 

•i.  95? 
it  g 

"  Only  a  rusty  axle  ;  at  least,  so  I  suppose.  That 
careless  David  had  forgotten  to  oil  it  properly.  But  1 
gave  him  such  a  scolding  that  there  lias  been  no  more 
trouble." 

"  David  is  not  careless — he  works  very  hard,  and  1 
love  him,"  retorted  Swanhilda,  tossing  back  her  yellow 
hair.  "  Besides,  such  a  noise  could  not  be  made  by  an 
axle." 

"  You  may  like  David,  but  you  mustn't  love  him  ; 
you  are  a  little  princess,  and  he  is  only  the  housekeeper's 
son." 

"  What  is  the  difference  between  loving  and  liking  ?" 
inquired  Swanhilda,  folding  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
turning  round  on  her  companion. 

He  took  her  hand  and  answered,  "  I  shall  teach  you 
that  when  you  are  older." 

"  I  am  not  so  young  as  you  think.  1  am  old  enough 
to  be  taught  now." 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  said  Gloam,  shaking  his  head  and 
laughing  ;  "  you  are  nothing  but  a  child  yet.  There  is 
plenty  of  time,  little  water-nymph." 

"If  you  will  not  teach  me,  I'll  find  some  one  else 
who  will  teach  me.  I  will  ask  David  !  he  has  taught 
me  some  things  already." 

"He?  What  have  you  learned  from  him?"  cried 
Gloam. 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  91 

Swanhilda  hesitated.  "  I  should  not  have  said  that— 
but  it's  nothing,  only  that  I  am  learning  to  speak  Eng 
lish.  He  didn't  want  you  to  know  until  I  was  quite 
perfect,  so  as  to  make  it  a  surprise  to  you." 

"  lie  had  no  right  to  do  it.  Why  should  you  learn  to 
speak  with  any  one  but  me  ?"  exclaimed  Gloam,  passion 
ately. 

"  Do  you  think  I  belong  to  you  ?"  demanded  Swan 
hilda,  lifting  her  head  in  half  earnest,  half  laughing  de 
fiance.  "  No  ;  1  am  my  own,  and  there  are  other  places 
besides  this  in  the  world,  and  other  people.  I  will  go 
back  to  my  own  country." 

"  Oh,  Swanhilda,"  said  Gloam,  his  voice  husky  with 
dismay,  "  you  will  never  leave  us  ?  I  cannot  live  with 
out  you." 

"  I  will,  if  you  are  unkind  to  me.  .  .  .  "Well,  then, 
you  must  not  be  angry  because  David  taught  me  Eng 
lish  ;  and  you  must  let  him  teach  me  the  difference  be 
tween  liking  and  loving  ;  I'm  sure  he  knows  what  it 
is!" 

"Do  not  ask  him— do  not  ask  him!  That  is  my 
right  ;  no  one  can  take  it  from  me  !  I  saved  you, 
Swanhilda  ;  I  brought  you  back  to  life,  and  that  new 
life  belongs  to  me  !"  The  hand  that  held  hers  had 
turned  cold,  and  he  was  pale  and  trembling.  "  I  have 
kept  you  for  myself  ;  I  have  given  up  my  own  life — the 
life  that  I  used  to  live — for  you.  I  cannot  return  to  it, 
if  you  leave  me." 

"  I  did  not  ask  you  to  give  it  up,"  she  returned,  way- 
wardly.  Then  she  relented,  and  said,  "  Well,  you  may 
teach  me  about  loving,  if  you  want  to.  Only,  after- 
w'ard,  you  must  let  me  love  any  one  I  please  !" 

Gloam  looked  upon  her  for  several  moments,  his  black 
eyes  lingering  over  every  line  of  her  face  and  figure. 


92  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

• 

"  Yon  belong  to  me,"  he  repeated  at  last.  "  If  yon 
left  me  for  another,  I  should  wish  that  your  pearl-shells 
had  drawn  yon  down — " 

Before  he  could  finish  uttering  the  thought  that  was 
in  his  heart,  the  words  were  drowned  in  a  throbbing  yell 
as  of  demoniac  laughter.  The  evil  spirit  of  the  wheel, 
after  biding  its  time  so  long  in  silence,  had  seemingly 
leaped  exultingly  into  life  at  the  first  premonition  of 
meditated  wrong.  Swanhilda  shuddered,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands.  David  thrust  his  head  out  of  the 
mill-room  window,  and  saw  Gloam  make  a  gesture  of 
rage  and  defiance. 

"  Aha  !"  lie  muttered  to  himself,  "  so  the  children's 
games  are  over,  are  they  ?  Can  it  be  the  devil's  game 
that  my  beloved  brother  thinks  of  beginning  now  ?" 

Another  year  passed,  and  again  a  man  and  a  woman 
were  sitting  together  on  the  bench  beside  the  mill.  It 
was  night,  and  a  few  stars  twinkled  between  the  rifts  of 
cloud  overhead.  The  gorge  was  so  dark  that  the  mill- 
stream  gurgled  past  invisibly,  save  where  now  and  then 
a  rising  eddy  caught  the  dim  starlight.  The  tall  wheel, 
motionless  now,  and  only  discernible  as  a  blacker  imprint 
on  the  darkness,  lurked  like  a  secret  enemy  in  ambush. 
The  man's  arm  was  clasped  round  the  woman's  waist  ; 
her  head  rested  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  soft  fingers  were 
playing  with  the  pearl-shell  necklace  that  encircled  her 
neck.  They  spoke  together  in  whispers,  as  though  fear 
ful  of  being  overheard. 

"Yon  silly  little  goose!''  the  man  said;  "a  few 
months  ago,  nothing  would  make  yon  happy  but  learn 
ing  what  love  was  ;  and  now  you  have  found  out  yon 
must  ever  be  whimpering  arid  paling.  Why,  what  are 
you  afraid  of  ?" 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  93 

"  Yon  know  I  am  happy  in  loving  yon,  David/''  was 
the  tremulous  answer;  "but  must  lovers  always  hide 
their  love,  and  pretend  before  others  that  they  do  not 
feel  it  ?  "When  I  first  dreamed  of  love,  it  seemed  to  me 
like  the  blue  sky  and  the  sunshine,  and  the  songs  of  the 
birds  ;  but  our  love  is  secret  and  silent,  like  the  night." 

"  Pooh  !  nonsense,  and  so  much  the  better  !  Our 
love  is  nobody's  business  but  our  own,  my"  lass.  You 
wouldn't  have  Gloam  find  it  out,  would  you,  and  part 
us  ?  What,  have  you  forgotten  the  fit  he  was  in  at  my 
teaching  you  English  a  year  ago  ?  He  wants  you  all  to 
himself,  the  old  miser  !  You  weren't  happier  with  him 
than  you  have  been  with  me,  were  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  David,"  whispered  the  girl,  clinging  to  him, 
"  that  was  so  different  !  1  was  happy,  then,  like  a  wave 
on  the  beach  in  summer.  I  had  no  deep  thoughts,  and 
my  heart  never  beat  as  you  make  it  beat,  and  my  breath 
never  came  in  long  sighs  as  it  does  often  now.  Gloam 
used  to  say  that  he  had  brought  me  back  from  death  to 
life  ;  but  it  was  not  so.  I  lived  first  when  1  loved  you. 
And  the  old  happiness  was  not  real  happiness,  for  there 
was  no  sadness  in  it  ;  it  never  made  me  cry,  as  this 
does." 

He  drew  her  to  him  with  a  little  laugh.  "When 
you've  lived  a  little  more  and  got  used  to  it,  you'll 
stop  sighing  and  crying,  and  be  as  bright  and  saucy  as 
you  were  with  Gloam.  But  you  won't  want  to  tell 
him  ...  eh  ?" 

She  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  "  Oh,  no,  no,  no  ! 
1  could  not  ;  1  should  feel  ashamed.  But  why  do  I  feel 
ashamed,  David  ?  Is  not  loving  right  ?" 

"  Right  ?  to  be  sure  it  is.  Nothing  more  so  !  And 
the  pleasantest  kind  of  right,  too,  to  my  thinking.  Eh, 
little  one  ?" 


94  THE   PEARL-SHELL  NECKLACE. 

"  David,  I  have  heard — are  not  people  who  love  each 
other  married — at  least  sometimes  ?  and  after  that  they 
are  not  afraid,  or  sad,  or  ashamed  ?" 

A  smile  hovered  on  David's  handsome  lips.  "  Mar 
ried  ?  yes,  stupid  people  get  married.  Timid  folks,  who 
are  afraid  to  manage  their  own  affairs,  and  can't  be  easy 
till  they've  called  in  the  parson  to  help  them  out. 
They're  the  folks  that  don't  love  each  other  right  down 
hard,  as  you  and  I  do.  They're  suspicious,  and  afraid 
of  being  left  in  the  lurch  ;  so  they  stand  up  in  a  church 
and  tie  themselves  together  by  a  troublesome  knot  they 
call  marriage.  No,  no  ;  we've  nothing  to  do  with  that ; 
we're  much  better  off  as  it  is." 

"  But  my  father  and  mother  were  married,  and  they 
were  not  suspicious,"  ventured  Swanhilda  again,  after  a 
pause. 

"  Oh,  ay,  they  were  married,"  assented  David  ;  add 
ing,  half  to  himself,  "  and  if  they  were  alive,  too,  and 
anxious  to  fill  a  son-in-law's  pockets,  I'd  open  mine,  and 
gladly.  But  my  father  and  mother  were  not  married," 
he  resumed  to  Swanhilda,  with  another  smile,  "  so  you 
see  we've  a  good  example  either  way." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  lifted  her  head  from  his 
shoulder  and  sat  twisting  the  necklace  between  her  rest 
less  fingers,  her  eyes  fixed  absently  on  the  darkness. 
The  clasps  of  the  necklace  came  unawares  apart,  and  it 
slipped  from  her  bosom  to  the  ground.  She  uttered  a 
little  cry,  and  stood  up  with  her  hands  clasped,  all  of  a 
tremble. 

"  I  have  lost  it  !"  she  said.  "  David,  some  harm  is 
coming  to  me  !" 

"  Nonsense  !  here  it  is,  as  good  as  ever."  He  picked 
it  up  as  he  spoke,  and  drawing  her  down  beside  him, 
fastened  it  again  round  her  neck,  and  then  kissed  her 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  95 

face  and  lips.     "  There,  there,   you're  all  right.     Did 
you  think  it  was  dropped  in  the  mill-race  ?" 

"Some  harm  is  coming,"  she  repeated.  "It  has 
never  fallen  from  me  since  my  mother  put  it  on  my 
shoulders,  and  said  it  would  keep  me  from  being  hurt  or 
drowned,  but  that  I  must  never  part  from  it.  But  I 
trust  you,  oh,  my  love  !  1  trust  you.  Something  seems 
wrong,  somehow  ;  1  have  given  you  all  myself  .  .  ." 

"  Lean  close  up  to  me,  little  one  ;  rest  that  soft  little 
qlieek  of  yours  against  mine,  and  have  done  with  crying 
now,  or  I'll  think  you  mean  to  melt  all  away  and  leave 
me  ;  and  what  would  I  do  then  ?" 

She  turned  and  clasped  her  arms  round  him  with  a 
kind  of  fierceness.  "  I  leave  you,  David  ?  Oh— ha, 
ha,  ha  !  Oh,  but  you  must  never  leave  me,  my  love — 
love — love  !  Oh,  what  should  I  do  if  you  were  to  leave 
me  ?" 

''  Hush,  girl,  hush  !  you'll  rouse  the  house— laughing 
and  crying  in  the  same  minute  !  Don't  you  know  1 
won't  leave  you?  There— hush.  You'll  wake  Gloarn 
else." 

"  He  loved  me,  too  ;  he  wouldn't  leave  me  ;  but  he 
thought  I  wasn't  old  enough — not  old  enough,  ha, 
ha  !  .  .  .  David,  does  God  know  about  us  ?" 

"  Not  enough  to  trouble  Him  much,  I  expect,"  said 
the  young  man,  with  a  short  laugh.  "If  anything 
knows  about  us,  it's  the  old  wheel  there,  waiting  like  a 
black  devil  to  carry  us  off.  Come,  we  must  creep  back 
to  the  house. ' ' 

They  rose,  Swanhilda  stood  before  him,  her  sweet,  sad 
face  glimmering  shadowy  pale  through  the  darkness. 
"  Say,  t  I  love  you,  Swanhilda,  and  I  will  never  leave 
you  !  '  '  she  whispered. 

He  hesitated,  laughed,  stroked  her  hair,  and  stooping, 


96  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

gazed  deep  into  "her  eyes,  as  on  the  day  when  they  first 
met.  Did  his  heart  falter  for  a  moment,  realizing  how 
utterly  she  was  his  own  ?  "  You  trusted  me  just  now," 
said  he  ;  "  are  you  getting  suspicious  again  ?" 

"No;  but  I  am  afraid — always  afraid  now.  When 
you  are  not  with  me,  1  am  afraid  of  every  one  1  meet  ; 
1  think  they  will  see  our  secret  in  my  eyes.  When  I  lie 
alone  at  night,  I  am  afraid  to  pray  to  God,  as  1  used  to 
do.  What  is  it  ?  Why  do  I  feel  so  ?  It  must  be  that 
we  have  done  some  wrong.  My  poor  love  !  have  I  made 
you  do  any  wrong  ?  I  would  rather  be  dead." 

"  Little  darling— no  !  You  couldn't  do  wrong  if  you 
tried.  There  is  no  wrong — I  swear  there  isn't  !  Listen, 
now,  in.  your  ear  :  I  love  you,  Swanhilda,  and  I  will 
never  leave  you  !  Satisfied  now  ?' ' 

Low  as  the  words  were  whispered,  they  were  heard 
beyond  the  stars,  and  stamped  themselves  upon  the  eter 
nal  records.  But  their  only  palpable  witness  was  the 
mill-wheel.  A  log  of  wood,  carried  over  the  fall,  came 
forcibly  in  contact  with  the  low-impending  rim.  It 
swung  the  heavy  structure  partly  round  upon  its  axle. 
And  straightway,  upon  the  hollow  night,  echoed  a  faint 
yet  appalling  sound  as  of  jeering  laughter.  Slowly  it  died 
away,  and  silence  closed  in  once  more,  like  darkness 
after  a  midnight  lightning  flash.  But  it  vibrated  still  in 
the  startled  hearts  of  the  man  and  the  woman,  who  crept 
so  stealthily  back  to  the  house,  and  vanished  in  the 
blackness  of  the  doorway,  and  it  revisited  their  unquiet 
dreams. 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.    "  97 


IX. 

SUMMER  and  winter  came  and  went,  and  were  followed 
by  a  gloomy  and  dismal  spring.  The  late-lying  snow 
was  dissolved  by  heavy  rains,  so  that  the  mill-stream  was 
swollen  beyond  precedent,  and  rolled  thundering  through 
the  gorge  with  the  force  of  a  full-grown  cataract.  But 
the  mill  was  idle,  and  the  wheel  stood  still.  None  came 
for  flour  now,  nor  to  bring  grist  ;  for  many  a  week  all 
work  had  been  foregone. 

Yet  the  house  was  not  deserted.  An  elderly  woman, 
with  a  forbidding  face  that  had  once  been  handsome' 
moved  to  and  fro  behind  the  windows  ;  and  a  man,  bent 
and  feeble,  with  strangely  grizzled  hair,  sat  motionless 
for  hours  at  a  time  in  his  study-chair.  Sometimes,  in 
his  loneliness,  he  would  set  his  teeth  edge  to  edge,  and 
clench  his  thin  hands  desperately,  and  utter  an  inarticu 
late  sound  of  menace.  But  at  a  certain  hour  of  the 
evening  he  would  arise  and  walk  with  noiseless  steps  to 
the  door  of  a  darkened  chamber.  There  he  would  pause 
and  lean  and  listen.  Presently  from  within  would  be 
heard  tho  shrill,  petulant  crying  of  an  infant,  and  anon 
the  voice  of  its  young  mother,  sad  and  tender,  soothing 
and  pathetic.  <  Baby,  baby,  don't  cry  ;  hush,  hush, 
hush  !  father  will  come  to  us  soon  ;  he  will  come,  he 
will  come  !  he  loves  us  and  will  never  leave  us  ;  hush 
hush,  hush  P 

At  these  sounds  the  pallid  visage  of  the  man  would 

quiver  and   darken,    and   he   would  press  his    clenched 

hands  upon  his  breast.     Returning  at  length  to  his  study, 

he  got  upon  his  knees  and  stretched  his  arms  upward. 

"  God — God  of  evil  or  of  good,  whichever  you  are 


98  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

give  my  enemy  into  my  power  !  Let  my  curse  work 
upon  him  till  it  destroy  him  ;  let  my  eyes  see  him 
perish  !  He  has  robbed  me  of  my  love,  and  my  hope, 
and  my  salvation  ;  he  has  defiled  and  dishonored  that 
which  was  mine  ;  he  has  made  my  life  a  desert  and  an 
abomination  !  Yet  I  would  live,  and  suffer  all  this  and 
more,  if  he  might  perish  by  my  curse,  body  and  soul, 
forever  !  Grant  me  this,  God  or  devil,  and  after  do 
with  me  what  you  will  !" 

Such  was  his  prayer.  But  he  never  entered  the  dark 
ened  chamber  where  the  child  and  its  young  mother  lay  ; 
he  never  looked  upon  them  or  spoke  to  them,  nor  did  his 
heart  forgive  them.  He  could  not  forgive  till  lie  had 
had  revenge.  Since  that  hour  in  which  he  had  first 
learned  the  truth,  and  with  hysteric  fury  had  sprung  at 
the  seducer's  throat,  his  soul  had  been  empoisoned 
against  them  and  all  the  world.  He  was  possessed  by 
that  devil  to  which  he  prayed,  and  good  was  evil 
to  him. 

One  day  he  was  standing  in  a  kind  of  stupor  at  his 
window  staring  out  at  the  black  mill-wheel,  which  was 
now  the  only  object  in  the  world  with  which  he  felt  him 
self  in  sympathy.  There  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Jael,  the  housekeeper,  entered.  Since  the  calamity 
which  had  befallen,  her  mariner  toward  Gloam  had  un 
dergone  a  change.  She  had  before  exercised  a  kind  of 
authority  over  him,  such  as  a  compact  and  unsympathetic 
nature  easily  acquires  over  one  of  wider  culture  but  more 
sensitive  than  its  own.  But  Gloam  had  become  more 
terrible  in  his  desolation  than  a  less  naturally  gentle  man 
would  have  been  ;  and  Jael  feared  him.  She  felt  that 
he  might  murder  her  ;  and  minded  her  steps,  lest  in 
some  sudden  paroxysm  he  should  leap  out  upon  her. 

She  advanced  a  little  way  into  the  room,  and  stopped. 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    KEOKLAOE.  99 

lie  did  not  turn,  or  show  that  he  was  aware  of  her  pres 
ence.     After  a  few  moments  she  said  : 

"  Master,  he  is  coming  back  ;  David's  coming  home 
again,  sir.  He's  going  to  make  it  all  right  with  Swan- 
hilda — lie  means  to  marry  her  !" 

Gloam  did  not  stir  ;  but  as  Jael  watched  him  nar 
rowly,  she  fancied  that  his  limbs  and  body  slowly  stif 
fened,  until  they  became  quite  rigid  ;  only  his  head  had 
a  slight  shivering  motion.  The  woman  shrank  back  a 
step,  with  a  feeling  of  alarm. 

It  seemed  a  long  while  before  Gloam  spoke,  and  the 
same  slight,  involuntary  shiver  pervaded  his  voice.  He 
still  kept  his  face  carefully  averted. 

-'  David  coming  back  ?" 
'  Yes,  sir  ;  I  had  a  message  from  him  this  morning." 

"To  .   .   .  marry  her  !" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  sir  ;  he'll  make  an  honest  woman  of 
her.  What  he  has  done  has  laid  heavy  on  his  conscience 
ever  since.  And  so  he  says  he  hopes  you'll  forgive  and 
forget,  and  that  we'll  all  prosper  and  be  happy  in  the 
future." 

Gloam's  chest  began  to  heave,  and  he  folded  his  arms 
tightly  across  it.  There  was  another  long  pause,  as 
though  he  feared  to  trust  his  voice  to  speak.  Finally 
the  words  came  between  his  shut  teeth  : 

"  When— when— when  ?" 

"  Did  you  mean,  when  will  he  be  here,  sir  ?  Well, 
lie  was  expecting  to  reach  the  next  town  late  this  after 
noon  ;  and  from  there  he'd  foot  it  over  here  ;  and  that 
wouldn't  bring  him  here  till  nigh  midnight.  But  likely 
he'll  wait  over,  and  get  here  to-morrow  morning. 
Luckily  though  there's  a  moon  to-night,  to  show  him 
where  to  step,  in  case  he  comes  right  on." 

Gloam  unfolded  his  arms,  and  raising  his  hands  to  his 


100  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

head,  passed  them  several  times  slowly  through  his  hair  ; 
staring  downward,  meanwhile,  at  the  wheel.  The 
rigidity  had  passed  away,  and  he  seemed  to  be  recover 
ing  from  the  agitation  into  which  the  first  shock  of  the 
news  had  thrown  him.  Jael's  mind  was  a  good  deal  re 
lieved  at  the  absence  of  any  signs  of  hostility  on  his  part 
against  David  ;  and  she  was  just  about  withdrawing, 
when  Gloam  turned  quickly  about  and  stepped  after  her. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  interview  she  now  saw  his 
face  ;  and  the  sight  so  far  startled  her  firm  nerves  as  to 
draw  from  her  a  short,  low  cry.  It  was  not  that  the 
face  was  pallid,  furrowed,  and  wasted  ;  it  had  been  all 
that  from  the  first  ;  but  what  appalled  her  was  the 
ghastly  expression  of  the  mouth  and  eyes.  It  was  not  a 
smile,  unless  an  evil  spirit  smiles,  foreseeing  the  destruc 
tion  of  its  victim.  Evil  it  was — delightedly  evil,  like 
the  triumph  of  long-baffled  hate.  It  was  a  cruel,  hun 
gry,  debased  expression,  hideously  at  variance  with  the 
passionate  and  ill-regulated  but  refined  character  of  the 
man.  It  suggested  the  idea  that  Gloam  was  possessed 
by  a  strange  spirit,  more  potent  and  more  wicked  than 
his  own,  which  commanded  his  body  to  what  uses  it 
pleased,  in  spite  of  all  that  he  could  do. 

For  it  was  evident  that  he  himself  understood  the 
cause  of  Jael's  dismay  ;  and  he  made  a  violent  effort  to 
drive  the  awful  look  out  of  his  face.  So  far  from  suc 
ceeding,  however,  he  was  forced  to  break  out  into  a 
frantic  laugh,  which  echoed  shrilly  through  the  silent 
house,  and  seemed,  to  Jael's  scared  ears,  a  copy  of  the 
infernal  cachinnation  which  was  wont  to  issue  from  the 
bewitched  mill. 

"  Don't  mind  it,  Jael,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak;  "  it's  nervousness — it's  the  reaction  from  sus 
pense  !  Wait — have  you  told  ,  .  .  ?" 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  101 


"  Swanliilda,  sir?  not  yet — I  thought  I'd  best  break 
it  gradually — ' '  \ 

"  Don't  tell  her— don't  hint  it  to  her  !"  He  spoke 
in  a  harsh  whisper,  bending  forward  toward  her  ;  "  be 
cause — because  he  might  not  come  after  all  !"  Then 
the  mocking  devil  seized  upon  him  again  ;  and  though 
he  folded  his  arms  and  held  down  his  head,  the  unholy 
laughter  which  he  strove  to  suppress  shook  his  whole 
body  and  turned  his  white  face  dark. 

The  housekeeper  was  glad  to  escape  from  the  room, 
for  she  thought  Gloam  must  have  gone  mad,  and  knew 
not  what  insane  violence  he  might  commit.  Her  first 
impulse  was  to  run  out  and  summon  help  ;  but  after  her 
immediate  panic  had  cooled  down,  she  thought  better  of 
such  a  proceeding.  The  explanation  of  his  behavior 
which  Gloam  himself  had  given  seemed,  upon  reflection, 
reasonable  enough.  The  abrupt  manner  in  which  she 
had  told  the  news  had  thrown  him  for  the  moment  off 
his  balance.  It  was,  upon  the  whole,  rather  a  good  sign 
than  a  bad  one,  for  it  showed  him  not  so  much  deadened 
by  suffering  as  he  had  appeared  to  be.  When  he  had 
had  time  to  rally,  he  w^ould  be  his  own  gentle  and  man 
ageable  self  once  more. 

Meanwhile  she  made  preparations  to  receive  David  on 
his  return.  The  young  man's  conduct  toward  Swan- 
hilda  had  so  angered  his  mother  that  she  had  more  than 
acquiesced  in  the  banishment  which  Gloam 's  rage  had 
forced  upon  him.  Not  that  she  loved  Swanliilda  much  ; 
nor  did  the  mere  immorality  of  her  son's  deed  greatly 
afflict  her.  But  she  had  never  ceased  to  have  faith  that, 
sooner  or  later,  news  would  come  of  the  yellow-haired 
maiden's  relatives  beyond  the  sea.  It  would  come,  per 
haps,  in  the  form  of  a  wealthy  and  open-hearted  gentle 
man  ;  or  of  a  lady,  with  diamonds  sparkling  on  her 


102  THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

hands  and  bosom.  They  would  say,  "  We  have  learned 
that  the  little  niece  or  cousin  whom  we  had  thought  lost 
was  saved,  and  is  living  here  with  you."  "  Yes,"  Jael 
would  reply  ;  u  and  she  has  been  brought  up  as  true  a 
lady  as  if  she  were  in  a  queen's  palace  ;  for  we  knew  she 
had  blue  blood  in  her  veins,  and  would  come  by  her  own 
at  last."  Then  Swanhilda  would  appear,  and  captivate 
them  with  her  beauty  and  simplicity.  But  when  they 
offered  to  take  her  away,  the  girl  would  say,  "  Not  with 
out  David,  for  I  love  him  !"  "Whereupon,  no  doubt, 
there  would  be  objections  and  remonstrances  ;  but 
David's  handsome  face  and  engaging  manners  would 
half  disarm  them  ;  and  at  the  last  Jael  herself  would 
arise,  and,  sacrificing  the  woman  to  the  mother,  would 
declare  openly,  "  He  too  is  of  gentle  blood  ;  his  father 
was  old  Harold  Gloam  ;  he  is  the  descendant  of  gentle 
men,  and  not  unworthy  of  the  girl  who  loves  him."  So 
would  resistance  finally  be  overcome,  and  all  concerned 
be  enriched. 

Such  had  been  Jael's  dream  ;  and  her  resentment  at 
the  revelation  of  David's  crime  had  been  mainly  aroused 
by  the  fact  that  it  involved  the  frustration  of  a  chance 
of  fortune  her  own  espousal  of  which  had  rendered  espe 
cially  dear  to  her.  When  the  scheme  was  first  con 
ceived,  the  young  man  had,  indeed,  acquiesced  in  it  ; 
but  as  time  went  on  and  inquiries  proved  fruitless,  he 
had  abandoned  the  hope  of  obtaining  wealth  and  station 
through  Swanhilda's  means.  Yet  the  girl  loved  him, 
arid  was  very  beautiful  ;  much  of  their  time  was  of 
necessity  passed  in  each  other's  society  ;  and  in  the  end 
the  sin  was  sinned.  Doubtless  he  had  regretted  her 
ruin  ;  but  to  make  her  honorable  amends  had  not  been 
compatible  with  the  projects  of  his  ambition  ;  and  when 
Gloam's  unexpectedly  violent  outbreak  had  driven  him 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  ICK} 

forth  upon  the  world,  he  had  perhaps  deemed  his  banish 
ment  a  not  inconvenient  pretext  for  freeing  himself  from 
the  ineumbrances,  such  as  they  were,  which  might  other 
wise  have  impeded  him.  He  left  Swanhilda  behind,  to 
pass  her  dark  hour  alone. 

Bnt,  this  being  so,  what  was  the  occasion  of  his  sndden 
change  of  purpose  ?  Was  he  penitent  ?  or  had  he  found 
that  honor  and  expediency  could  be  made  compatible, 
after  all  ?  The  letter  which  he  had  written  to  Jael  did 
not  explicitly  answer  this  question  ;  but  from  hints 
which  it  contained,  the  housekeeper  had  drawn  favor 
able  inferences  ;  and  she  looked  forward  to  his  coming 
with  agreeable  anxiety.  She  had  told  Gloam  the  news, 
intending  (should  he  refuse  a  reconciliation)  to  acknowl 
edge  to  him  that  his  father  was  David's  likewise.  But 
his  strange  behavior  had  frightened  this  purpose  out  of 
her  head  ;  and  when  she  recollected  it  again,  it  seemed 
most  advisable  that  the  revelation  should  for  the  present 
be  postponed. 


X. 

ABOUT  sunset  Jael  was  surprised  by  the  beginning;  of  a 
jarring  and  rumbling  noise,  the  like  of  which  had  not 
been  heard  in  the  gorge  for  a  number  of  weeks  past. 
Half  incredulous  of  the  evidence  of  her  own  ears,  she 
paused  to  listen.  Certainly  there  was  no  mistake — the 
mill  was  going  !  She  stepped  to  the  window  and  looked 
out.  Yes,  there  revolved  the  great  black  wheel  heavily 
upon  its  axle,  churning  the  headlong  torrent  into  foam, 
and  hurling  the  white  froth  from  its  rigid  rims.  As  she 


104  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

gazed,  astonished,  she  saw  Gloam  issue  from  the  mill 
and  stand  beside  the  boiling  mill-race,  .watching  with 
manifest  excitement  the  sullen  churning  of  the  huge 
machine.  He  wore  no  hat,  his  hair  was  tossed  and 
tangled,  his  bearing  reckless  and  wild.  All  at  once  (for 
the  machinery,  having  been  so  long  out  of  use,  had 
doubtless  become  very  rusty)  an  unearthly  peal  of  laugh 
ter — or  what  seemed  such — was  launched  upon  the  even 
ing  air.  It  partly  died  away  ;  then  it  again  burst  forth, 
clinging  to  the  listener's  ears  and  stabbing  them,  and 
leaving  a  sting  that  rankled  there  long  afterward.  In 
the  midst  of  the  infernal  din,  Jael  saw  Gloam  toss  up  his 
arms  and  abandon  himself  to  a  sympathetic  paroxysm  of 
grisly  merriment.  The  man  and  the  machinery  were 
possessed  by  one  and  the  same  demon. 

"  Master — Master  Gloam  !"  cried  the  woman,  throw 
ing  open  the  window  and  lifting  her  voice  to  her  shrillest 
pitch,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  why  have  you  set  the  mill 
going?" 

He  glanced  up  at  her  with  wild  eyes  and  waved  his 
hand.  "  It  is  a  season  of  rejoicing  !"  he  answered. 
"  The  prayer  that  1  prayed  is  coming  to  pass  !  There 
fore  let  the  wheel  go  round  !  Hear  it,  how  it  laughs 
and  rejoices  !" 

"  But  there  is  no  grist — the  mill  is  empty  !" 

"  It  will  not  be  empty  long  ;  the  grist  is  coming — it 
comes,  it  comes  !  Let  the  great  wheel  go  round  and 
grind  it  to  powder  !" 

Jael  drew  back  with  a  sickening  apprehension  at  her 
heart.  Gloam  was  too  plainly  in  a  state  of  delirious 
frenzy,  if  he  were  not  actually  mad.  She  longed  for 
David's  appearance,  and  yet  dreaded  it  ;  she  knew  not 
whether  the  meeting  between  the  two  men  would  issue 
well  or  ill.  And  then  her  mind  reverted  to  Swarihilda, 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  105 

and  she  asked  herself  what  the  effect  of  her  lover's  pres 
ence  would  be  upon  her  ?  Ever  since  the  first  week  fol 
lowing  upon  his  departure,  the  young  mother  had  main 
tained  a  singularly  passive  demeanor,  only  occasionally 
disturbed  by  reasons  of  vague  and  tremulous  anxiety. 
The  housekeeper  had  looked  in  upon  her  several  times 
that  afternoon.  She  lay  quietly  in  one  position,  her  eyes 
open  and  fixed,  save  when  the  baby  claimed  her  atten 
tion.  She  did  not  speak,  and  seemed  scarcely  aware  of 
outward  things.  Even  the  uproar  of  the  mill,  when 
that  began,  commanded  her  notice  but  for  a  short  time, 
and  appeared  rather  to  gratify  than  to  distress  her.  She 
perhaps  associated  it  with  the  thought  of  David,  and 
fancied  it  in  some  way  indicative  of  that  home-return 
which  she  had  all  along  never  allowed  herself  to  despair 
of.  But  she  was  as  one  partly  entranced,  whose  ears 
and  eyes  (as  some  believe)  are  opened  to  things  beyond 
the  ordinary  ken  of  human  senses. 

The  evening  was  cloudy,  and  night  came  on  apace. 
Gloam  had  re-entered  the  house  shortly  after  dark  ;  and 
Jael  presently  went  to  his  room  to  ask  him  where  he 
would  take  his  evening  meal.  But  he  met  her  in  the 
upper  passage-way.  He  seemed  to  carry  something  in 
his  hand  ;  she  could  not  make  out  what  it  was  ;  and  he 
immediately  hid  it  beneath  his  coat.  To  her  inquiries 
he  replied  that  he  was  going  forth  to  resume  his  old 
practice  of  walking,  and  that  he  would  sup  with  David 
after  his  return.  Jael,  in  her  uneasiness,  would  gladly 
have  persuaded  him  to  remain  at  home  ;  but  he 'was  ob 
stinate  against  all  entreaties,  and  finally  pushed  roughly 
by  her  and  was  gone. 

Meanwhile,  the  mill  was  still  in  motion.  The  house 
keeper  had  an  impulse,  soon  after  Gloam 's  departure,  to 
go  out  and  uncouple  the  machinery  ;  but  she  feared  lest 


106  THE    PEAEL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

he  might  resent  her  interference,  and  forbore.  The 
noise  and  the  suspense  she  was  in  combined  to  keep 
her  in  a  state  of  feverish  restlessness.  Her  thoughts 
busied  themselves  against  her  will  with  all  manner  of 
gloomy  and  painful  memories  and  speculations.  The 
vision  of  her  youth  rose  up  before  her,  and  filled  her 
with  vain  remorseful  terrors.  She  strove  to  cheer  her 
self  with  picturing  her  son's  arrival,  but  even  that  had 
now  become  a  source  of  apprehension  rather  than  of 
comfort.  All  the  time  she  was  oppressed  by  an  indefin 
able  sensation  that  some  one  was  prowling  about  outside 
the  house  ;  and  once,  after  the  wheel  had  delivered  itself 
of  an  outpouring  of  inhuman  mirth,  Jael  fancied  the 
strain  was  taken  up  in  a  no  less  wild,  though  not  so  pene 
trating,  key.  Was  it  possible  that  Gloarn  was  lurking  in 
the  gorge  ?  and  if  so,  what  could  he  be  doing  there  ? 
Cautiously  she  peered  out  of  the  window  ;  but  the  moon 
was  as  yet  obscured  by  clouds,  and  nothing  was  certainly 
distinguishable.  She  returned  to  the  fireside  ;  yet 
paused  and  listened  again,  because — or  else  her  excited 
imagination  deceived  her — another  and  a  different  sound 
had  reached  her  from  without  ;  a  sharp,  grating  sound, 
like  that  made  by  a  rusty  saw  eating  its  way  through 
close-grained  timber.  Ere  she  could  be  certain  about  the 
matter,  however,  the  noise  stopped,  and  returned  no 
more. 

An  hour  or  so  later,  it  wanting  then  only  a  few  min 
utes  of  midnight,  Swanhilda  suddenly  awoke  from  her 
half  trance,  and  sat  upright  in  her  bed.  The  house 
resounded  dully  to  the  mu  tiled  throbbing  of  the  machi 
nery,  but  otherwise  there  was  no  stir.  The  little  baby 
had  fallen  sound  asleep,  and  lay  at  its  mother's  side,  with 
its  tiny  hands  folded  beneath  its  chin,  and  grasping  the 
pearl-shell  necklace,  which  was  its  favorite  plaything. 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  107 

After  sitting*  tense  and  still  for  a  moment,  Swanhilda  got 
out  of  bed,  huddled  on  some  clothes,  kissed  the  uncon 
scious  baby  twice  or  thrice,  and  then  silently  left  the 
room.  In  another  minute  she  had  stolen  down  the 
stairs,  and  was  standing  between  the  house  and  the 
stream,  in  the  open  air.  She  looked  first  one  way  and 
then  another,  and  finally,  without  any  hesitation  in  her 
manner,  but  with  an  assured  and  joyful  bearing,  bent 
her  steps  toward  the  top  of  tfte  gorge.  A  narrow  foot 
path  led  up  thither,  and  at  the  highest  point  turned  to 
the  right,  and  was  carried  across  the  torrent  by  a  narrow 
bridge  formed  of  a  single  plank.  When  Swanhilda 
came  to  the  turn,  she  did  not  go  over  the  bridge,  but  sat 
down  upon  a  stone  amid  the  shrubbery,  and  waited. 

How  had  she  known  that  there  was  any  one  to  wait 
for  ?  Jael,  certainly,  had  told  her  nothing  ;  still  less 
could  she  have  learned  anything  from  Gloam.  Never 
theless,  there  she  sat,  waiting,  and  knowing  beyond  ques 
tion  that  her  lover  was  near,  and  was  rapidly  coming 
nearer.  In  a  few  minutes  she  would  hear  his  steps  ; 
then  he  would  be  upon  the  bridge,  and  she  would  rise 
and  meet  him  there.  Had  he  not  promised,  months 
ago,  that  he  would  never  leave  her  ?  and  though  he  had 
been  driven  away  for  a  time,  she  had  never  doubted 
that  he  would  return.  He  loved  her  ;  soon,  soon  she 
would  feel  his  arms  about  her,  his  kisses  on  her  lips. 
Ah  !  what  happiness  after  all  this  pain  ;  what  measure 
less  content  !  How  glad  would  be  their  meeting  ;  and 
when  she  showed  him  their  little  baby,  the  cup  of  joy 
would  be  full.  Nay,  it  was  so  already.  In  all  Swaii- 
hilda's  life  she  had  never  known  a  moment  so  free  from 
all  earthly  trouble  as  was  this  ! 

It  was  near  the  end.  She  stood  up  ;  she  had  heard  a 
footstep  ;  yes,  there  again  !  He  must  be  close  at  hand  ; 


108  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

if  it  were  not  so  dark  she  would  have  already  seen  him. 
And  now  the  clouds  which  had  so  long  obscured  the 
moon  broke  away,  and  the  pale  sphere 'hung  poised  in 
dark  purple  space,  and  shed  a  dim  lustre  over  the  little 
gorge.  The  light  glanced  on  the  curve  of  the  cataract, 
and  twinkled  in  the  eddies  of  the  pool,  and  danced  along 
the  tumultuous  rapid,  and  glistened  upon  the  froth  of 
the  mill-race.  There  the  black  wheel  still  plunged  to  its 
work,  whirling  its  gaunt  arms  about  as  if  grasping  for  a 
victim.  In  the  bushes  close  beside  it  crouched  a  man 
with  white  face  and  staring  eyes.  He  had  laid  his  trap, 
and  was  awaiting  the  issue.  He  had  not  seen  Swanhilda 
leave  the  house  and  climb  the  little  path  ;  his  eyes  and 
thoughts  had  been  turned  elsewhither. 

David  came  swiftly  along  the  upland  path,  whistling 
to  himself  as  he  walked.  We  will  not  search  his 
thoughts,  seeing  he  was  so  near  the  end  of  his  journey. 
"When  he  arrived  at  the  brow  of  the  gorge,  and  was 
within  a  few  paces  of  the  bridge,  he  halted  and  peered 
forward  earnestly.  What  figure  was  that  that  seemed  to 
stand  expectantly  on  the  other  side  ?  It  could  not  be 
Swanhilda — ay,  but  it  was  !  He  gave  a  little  laugh,  and 
then  his  hard  heart  softened  and  warmed  toward  her. 
"  How  she  does  love  me,  poor  little  thing  !"  he  mut 
tered.  "  And  I've  treated  her  devilish  badly,  no  mis 
take.  Well,  well,  I'll  make  it  up  to  her,  if  all  goes 
well,  see  if  I  don't  !" 

He  came  on  to  the  bridge,  and  Swanhilda  also  hurried 
forward.  Then  the  man  below  among  the  bushes  started 
up,  dry-mouthed  and  breathless.  In  an  instant  he  sent 
forth  a  great,  terrible  cry  of  warning  and  agony  ;  but 
before  it  could  be  uttered  the  lovers  had  met  upon  the 
narrow  plank,  and  Swanhilda  had  received  her  kiss. 
While  their  lips  yet  touched,  the  plank,  sawn  in  two  all 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  109 

but  a  finger's  breadth,  broke  downward,  and  they  fell, 
clasped  in  each  other's  arms — headlong  down  over  the 
fall,  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  eddying  pool  ;  up  again, 
and  over  in  the  rapids,  whirling  round  and  round,  dashed 
against  the  jagged  stones,  bleeding  piteously  ;  stunned, 
let  us  trust,  already,  but  still  clinging  to  each  other. 
Now  the  last  plunge  ;  and  so,  at  length,  with  a  final 
shriek  of  heaven-defying  laughter,  the  hungry  demon  of 
the  wheel  grappled  its  prey.  Ay,  snatch  at  them,  tear, 
break,  grind  them  down  and  hold  them  there  ;  they  are 
past  feeling  now.  But  not  so  the  man  upon  the  bank, 
with  uncovered  hair  showing  black  and  white  in  the 
moonlight,  who  has  looked  on  at  this  scene,  powerless  to 
help,  but  awake  to  every  swift  phase  of  the  tragedy, 
losing  not  a  struggle  or  a  pang,  realizing  his  own  un 
speakable  horror  and  anguish,  and  foreseeing  no  comfort 
or  pardon  through  all  time  to  come. 

The  wheel  stopped  suddenly.  Jael  came  breathless 
out  of  the  mill-house,  and  shrinkingly  approached  the 
margin.  A  formless  mass  of  something  was  wedged  be 
neath  the  lower  rim  of  the  wheel  and  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  and  a  long  mass  of  yellow  hair  floated  out  along 
the  black  water,  and  gleamed  in  the  lustre  of  the  un 
troubled  moon.  The  man  on  the  other  side  was  kneel 
ing  down,  and  seemed  to  be  gazing  idly  into  the  current. 

"  He  was  your  brother,"  said  Jael,  sobbing  with  rage 
and  misery.  "  Your  father  was  his.  You  have  mur 
dered  him.  God  curse  you  !  I  wish  you  lay  where  he 
is." 

((  Why,  Jael,"  returned  Gloam,  smiling  at  her,  "  you 
invoke  a  curse  and  a  blessing  in  the  same  breath  !  My 
brother  ?  —well.  Swanhilda  loved  him  and  not  me. 
Thank  God  I  was  the  brother  of  the  man  she  loved  ;  the 
same  blood  ran  in  onr  veins — she  loved  a  part  of  me  in 


110  THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

him.  But  why  do  you  trouble  yourself  to  curse  me, 
Jael  ?  I  ask  the  charity  of  all  men,  and  their  sym 
pathy  !"  .  .  . 

I  unclasped  my  hands  from  above  my  eyes,  and  started 
to  my  feet.  No,  there  was  no  one  near  me  ;  1  was  quite 
alone.  It  was  deep  twilight,  but  objects  were  still  dis 
cernible  ;  yet  nowhere,  neither  beneath  the  Black  Oak, 
nor  beside  the  Laughing  Wheel,  nor  anywhere  in  the 
gorge,  could  1  see  a  trace  of  my  late  companion — of  him 
whose  last  words  were  even  then  ringing  in  my  ears  : 
"  I  ask  the  charity  of  all  men,  and  their  sympathy  !" 


XI. 


THE  next  morning  I  was  down  late  to  breakfast.  It 
was  glorious  weather,  and  the  blue  sparkle  of  the  sea 
came  through  the  open  window,  bringing  with  it  a  limit 
less  inspiration  of  hope  and  wholesomeness.  It  was  diffi 
cult  to  believe  that  there  had  ever  been  any  sorrow  or 
wrong  in  the  world. 

"  Ye're  not  looking  right  hearty,"  said  Mr.  Poyntz, 
•with  bluff  geniality,  while  his  good  wife  set  before  me  a 
huge  plate  of  daintily  fried  bacon  and  eggs,  and  a  smok 
ing  cup  of  coffee.  "  Maybe  ye  walked  a  bit  too  far  last 
night?  'Twas  powerful  late  afore  ye  got  home,  any 
how." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  glancing  at  Agatha,  who  was  knitting 
a  pair  of  stockings  for  Peter  in  the  eastern  window,  the 
morning  sun  glistening  on  the  broad  plaits  of  her  yellow 
hair.  "  Yes,  Mr.  Povntz,  I  think  I  must  have  made  a 


THE    PEAltL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  Ill 

very  long  journey  last  evening.  By  the  way,  is  not  to 
day  Sunday?" 

"  Ay,  surely  !"  exclaimed  husband  and  wife  in  a 
breath  ;  and  then  the  former  added,  "  Ye'll  be  wanting 
to  go  to  church,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No,  not  this  Sunday  ;  though  I  hope  to  go  before 
long,  if  Miss  Agatha  is  willing  to  show  me  the  way." 
I  glanced  at  her  again  as  I  said  this,  but  she  would  not 
look  up,  and  I  could  not  even  be  sure  whether  she  were 
listening.  "  What  1  want,"  1  continued,  "  is  for  you, 
Mr.  Poyntz,  since  you'll  be  at  leisure,  to  take  a  stroll 
with  me  a  little  way  up  the  stream.  It  will  be  a  nov 
elty,  perhaps  almost  as  much  so  to  you  as  to  me." 

"  Up  the  stream,  is  it  ?"  returned  he,  pausing  in  the 
operation  of  cutting  up  a  piece  of  tobacco,  and  turning 
his  blue  eye  on  me  ;  "  why,  truly,  sir,  that's  a  trip  I've 
not  made  for  a  number  of  years.  Howsoever,  none 
knows  the  road  better  than  I  do,  and  if  so  be  as  naught 
else  '11  do  ye,  why,  I'm  your  man  !" 

Accordingly,  so  soon  as  I  had  done  breakfast,  the 
sturdy  old  manner  mounted  a  wonderful,  glazed  hat  and 
a  new  pea-jacket  of  blue  pilot  cloth,  took  a  fresh  clay 
pipe  from  the  mantelpiece,  with  a  sigh  and  a  shake  of 
the  head  over  the  destruction  of  his  beloved  meer 
schaum,  and  professed  himself  ready. 

"  Good-by,  Agatha,"  1  said,  passing  the  window. 
"  Is  there  anything  you  would  like  me  to  bring  you, 
when  we  come  back  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  great  many  !"  answered  she,  looking  up 
gravely  ;  "  but  nothing,  I'm  afraid,  that  you  can  get  for 
rne.  Though — you'll  bring  yourself  back  to  dinner,  I 
suppose,  won't  you  ?" 

She  bent  over  her  knitting  as  she  said  it,  and  her 
mouth  and  downcast  eyelids  were  very  demure.  Never- 


112  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

theless,  I  was  encouraged  to  fancy  that  my  former 
remark  about  church- going  had  not  fallen  so  entirely 
unheeded  as  it  had  appeared  to  do.  Before  I  could 
hammer  out  a  fitting  answer  (my  brain  always  seemed  to 
work  with  really  abnormal  sluggishness  when  I  most 
wanted  to  do  myself  credit  with  Agatha),  Poyntz  rolled 
out  in  his  deep,  jovial  voice,  "  Back  to  Sunday  dinner  ? 
"Well,  I  should  hope  so.  Why,  the  old  woman  is  baking 
a  pie  as  I'd  sail  round  the  Horn  to  get  a  snack  of  ! 
Come  on,  Mr.  Firemount  ;  it'll  go  hard  but  we  fetches 
back  an  appetite  as  '11  warm  the  women's  hearts  to  look 
at." 

"We  trudged  off  at  a  tolerably  round  pace,  and  soon 
struck  into  a  narrow  grass-grown  lane  which  led  toward 
the  east  ;  and  had  proceeded  some  distance  along  it  be 
fore  1  said  : 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Poyntz,  that  your  daughter  is 
one  of  the  loveliest  women  in  the  world  ?" 

"  Ye  mean  Agatha  ?  Ay,  surely,  that  she  is,  heaven 
bless  her  !  She  was  always  that.  A  tiny  bit  of  a  lass,  1 
remember  her,  i\ot  so  long  as  my  arm  ;  as  pretty  a  baby 
she  was  then  as  she's  a  woman  now." 

61  Has  she  any  thought  of  getting  married  soon  ? 
Such  a  face  and  character  must  have  suitors  enough." 

"  Well,  as  touching  that,  sir,"  said  Poyntz,  taking  his 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and  looking  at  it  carefully,  "  ye 
mustn't  think  of  Agatha  just  the  same  as  of  the  fisher 
men's  girls  you  meet  round  about.  Good,  honest  girls 
they  all  are,  I'm  saying  naught  against  that  ;  but 
Agatha,  d'ye  see,  is  a  bit  different.  Ye'll  maybe  think 
it  queer  I  should  say  it,  sir  ;  but  say  it  T  will  that 
Agatha  is  a  lady.  She  may  live  in  our  house,  and  put 
up  with  our  ways — nay,  and  love  us  too,  which  sure  1 
am  she  does  ;  but  all  the  same,  if  ye  notice,  she  don't 


THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE.  113 

speak  the  same  as  me  and  the  old  woman  do,  nor  she 
don't  think  the  same  neither.  She's  built  on  other 
lines,  as  I  may  say — a  clipper  yacht,  while  we're  but 
fishing  smacks,  or  trading  schooners  at  best.  And  that 
being  so  as  it  is,  the  young  fellows  of  our  neighborhood 
don't  find  they've  got  much  show  alongside  of  her,  some 
how.  They're  afraid  of  her,  that's  the  long  and  short  of 
it  ;  not  but  she  treats  'em  kind  enough,  ye  understand, 
as  a  lady  should  ;  but  'tis  the  kindness  of  a  lady  and  not 
of  an  equal,  and  there's  not  one  of  'em  stanch  enough 
to  hold  out  against  it.  And  how  be  they're  fine  lads, 
many  of  them,  I  can't  truly  say  as  I'm  sorry  for  it,  if  so 
as  Agatha  is  content." 

"Nor  can  I  !"  I  echoed  to  myself  with  devout  ear 
nestness.  "  She  does  seem  of  a  different  stock  from 
most  I  see  here,"  I  said  aloud.  "  I  have  seen  women 
somewhat  like  her  at  Copenhagen  ;  though  I  don't 
know  whether  I  should  have  thought  of  that  if  1  hadn't 
happened  to  say  something  in  Danish,  yesterday,  and 
she  answered  me  in  the  same  language." 

"  Did  she  now  !"  said  Poyntz,  tipping  forward  his  hat 
and  scratching  the  back  of  his  head.  u  And  if  I  might 
ask  it,  sir,  how  came  ye  to  speak  Danish  your  own  self  ?" 

"  My  family  was  Danish  before  I.  was  born  ;  and  I 
was  taught  the  language  almost  before  1  knew  English. 
Our  name  used  to  be  Feuerberg  ;  but  we've  translated  it 
since  we  emigrated,  you  see." 

"Ay,  surely — Feuerberg,"  said  Poyntz,  puffing  his 
pipe  prcoccnpiedly. 

We  walked  on  for  a  while  in  silence.     So  great  was 

O 

my  desire  that  the  evidence  which  1  had  been  arranging 
in  my  mind  should  be  borne  out  by  the  facts,  that  I  was 
almost  afraid  to  put  the  matter  definitely  to  the  proof  ; 
while  Poyntz,  on  the  other  hand,  was  evidently  taken  by 


114  THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE. 

surprise,  and  had  not  got  his  ideas  quite  settled.  At 
length,  however,  I  thought  I  would  hazard  one  hint 
more. 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that  yarn  you  Avere  spinning 
yesterday  afternoon — in  fact,  I  believe  1  dreamt  of  it  last 
night  ;  and  I  should  imagine  that  the  little  yellow-haired 
girl,  if  she  grew  up,  would  have  looked  enough  like 
Agatha  to  be  her  sister — or  her  mother,  at  any  rate. ' ' 

"  And  I've  been  thinking,  sir,  of  the  accident  that 
stopped  me  from  finishing  that  there  yarn  ye  speak  of, 
and  of  the  hearty  thanks  1  owe  ye  for  the  stout  heart  and 
ready  hand  that  saved  my  Peter.  But  thanks  is  easily 
said  ;  and  I  mean  more  than  words  come  to.  I'd  not 
have  ye  suppose  as  I'd  give  all  trust  and  confidence  to  a 
man  just  because  he's  done  a  brave  act  for  me  and  mine. 
But  as  1  told  you  once  afore,  and  speaking  out  man  to 
man,  1  like  the  looks  of  ye,  and  ever  did  ;  and  seeing  as 
how  ye've  found  out  a  good  bit  of  our  little  secret 
already,  and  seem  like  you'd  an  interest  to  know  more 
of  it  ;  for  that,  and  likewise  because  of  another  thing,  as 
I've  just  found  out  myself,  and  it  may  be  as  important 
as  any — well,  I'll  tell  ye  what  about  Agatha  there  is  to 
tell." 

At  this  moment,  however,  we  passed  round  a  clump 
of  oak  trees,  and  found  ourselves  right  at  the  entrance 
of  the  little  gorge  where  I  had  had  my  adventure  the 
night  before.  Poyntz  halted,  and  fixed  his  eyes  gravely 
upon  the  scene  for  several  moments.  "  Ay,  the  same 
old  harbor,"  said  he  ;  "  it's  changed  a  bit  now,  but  it 
brings  it  all  back  to  me  the  last  time  I  was  here.  This 
is  the  Laughing  Mill,  Mr.  Feuerberg.  And  this  here  is 
the  Black  Oak,  and  here  is  poor  Gloam's  grave,  d'ye 
see  ?  with  the  bit  of  gray  stone  a-sticking  out  of  the  end 
of  it.5' 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  115 

"  Why  was  he  buried  here  ?" 

"  "Well,  'twas  his  wish,  that's  all.  He  was  crazed  the 
last  years  of  his  life,  with  grieving  on  the  death  of  the 
young  girl  as  he'd  picked  up  on  the  beach,  that  I  was 
telling  you  of.  A  sad  £hing  it  was  altogether.  She 
went  wrong,  d'ye  see,  with  the  fellow  David,  the 
Scholar's  brother,  and  was  drowned  here  along  with 
him  ;  but  how  that  came  to  pass  was  never  rightly 
known.  'Tis  thought  the  Scholar  had  meant  for  to 
marry  the  girl  himself.  And  so  would  David  have  mar 
ried  her,  1  doubt,  if  he'd  known  what  I  know." 

"About  the  family?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  that.  Ye  maybe' 11  remember  the  iron 
box  as  I  picked  up  ?  Well,  I  didn't  tell  any  one  about 
it  then,  not  even  the  Scholar  ;  and  soon  after  the  night 
of  the  storm,  1  shipped  for  Ilio,  and  was  away  a  matter 
of  two  years.  When  I  came  back  I  heard  as  how  David 
was  thick  with  the  girl — Swanhilda  they  called  her. 
Then  I  opened  the  box,  not  having  done  it  before,  and 
found  papers  in  it  telling  who  she  was,  and  that  folks  of 
hers  were  living  in  Germany,  having  emigrated  there 
from  Denmark  ;  and  from  what  1  could  make  out— for 
'twas  in  a  foreign  lingo,  and  1  was  forced  to  borrow  a 
lexicon  to  it — it  seemed  likely  as  how  they  was  well  off. 
Now,  I  had  my  opinion  of  David,  that  he  was  a  worth 
less  sort  of  a  chap,  though  clever  and  handsome  ;  so 
thinks  1,  I  won't  tell  him  of  this,  for  if  so  be  as  I  do, 
he'll  wed  the  girl  in  the  hope  of  money,  and  not  for 
true  love  of  her,  who  was  worthy  the  love  of  better  than 
he.  Bat  what  I'll  do,  I'll  write  to  those  her  folks  in 
Germany,  telling  them  as  how  she's  here  ;  and  when 
they  come,  then  they  can  do  for  her  as  they  h'ncl  best, 
and  it'll  be  out  of  my  hands.  And  so  I  did,  but  had 
never  an  answer  ;  why,  I  don't  know.  But  it  never  came 


116  THE    PEARL-SHELL    NECKLACE. 

in  my  mind,  sir,  that  the  fellow  David  would  ever  be  so 
black   a   scoundrel   as   to   lead   the   poor   innocent  girl 
wrong.     How  be,  when  he  had  done  it,  thinks  I,  I'll 
tell   him   of  her  folks  now,  because  now  the  best  can 
happen  will  be  that  they  marry,  though  the  best  is  bad 
enough  ;  and  if  I  tell  him,  maybe  he'll  make  her  an 
honest  woman,  as  the  saying  is.     And  tell  him  I  did, 
with  a  piece  of  my   mind  touching  my  thought  of  him, 
into  the  bargain.     And  he  promised  me  as  he'd  go  and 
make  it  right  the  next  day — this  being  spoke  in  the  town 
above  here,  whither  I'd  gone  for  to  see  him.     And  it 
can't  be  said  but  what  he  kept  his  word  ;  only  he  and 
she  was  drowned  in  the  night,  and  crushed   under  that 
there  wheel,  as  never  has  turned  since,  to  this  day." 
66  What  became  of  her  baby — she  had  a  baby  ?" 
66  Ay,  and  so  she  did,  sir.     Well,  'twas  cared  for  by 
the  housekeeper — she  being  grandmother  to  it,  and  so 
having  first  right,  the  more  as  the  Scholar  was  crazed, 
though  not  dangerous,   but  mild   and   melancholy-like. 
But  in  years  the  old  woman  she  came  to  the  poorhouse, 
and  there  died  ;  and  I  took  the  baby,  and  gave  her  what 
best  I  had  to  give,  and  better  schooling  than  the  lasses 
care  for  hereabouts.     And   as  luck  would  have   it,  an 
elderly  woman  of  Danish  blood  being  come  by  a  chance 
to  the  village,  I  got  her  to  be  nurse  to  the  little  one,  and 
so  grew  up  to  a  knowledge  of  her  native  tongue,  d'ye 
see,  and  the  fairy  tales  and  such  like  thereto  belonging. 
And — ay,   I  see  you've  guessed  it  long  already,  sir— 
that's  Agatha." 

I  had  intended  relating  my  vision  to  Mr.  Poyntz  on 
the  spot  where  it  occurred  ;  but  I  know  not  what  reluc 
tance  prevented  me.  It  was  too  strange  and  solemn  and 
inexplicable  an  experience  to  bear  discussing  so  soon. 
So,  instead  of  that,  I  told  him,  as  we  trudged  homeward 


THE   PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.  117 

together,  the  history  of  the  Feuerberg  family,  and  how 
all  tended  to  ratify  my  conviction  that  Agatha  and  I 
were  cousins,  though  far  removed.  And  I  may  remark 
here  that  he  and  1  between  us  had  afterward  no  difficulty 
(what  with  his  documents  and  my  knowledge)  in  estab 
lishing  the  relationship  beyond  a  doubt.  "  But,"  I 
added,  as  we  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  slope  overlooking 
the  old  house,  and  saw  Agatha  appear  round  the  corner 
and  kiss  her  hand  to  us,  "  but  she  and  1  are  the  last  of 
oar  race,  and  there  is  no  great  fortune  awaiting  us,  that 
I  know  of.  Only,  Mr.  Poyntz,  I  love  her  with  my  whole 
heart  ;  if  she  can  love  me,  will  you  trust  her  to  me  ?" 

"Nay,  ye  mustn't  ask  me,"  replied  the  ancient 
mariner,  grasping  my  hand,  with  tears  in  his  old  blue 
eyes.  "  I  doubt  she  loves  you  well,  already.  And  so 
do  \\e  all,  for  ye're  a  man,  all  be  a  quiet  one.  'Twill 
be  hard  parting  with  her,  as  has  been  sunshine  to  us  this 
many  a  year  ;  but  ye'll  bring  her  to  see  the  old  folks,  as 
time  serves  ;  and  I'm  bold  for  to  believe  ye'll  be  as 
happy  as  the  day  is  long." 

It  is  twenty  years  since  then,  and  old  Jack  Poyntz's 
prophecy  has  proved  true.  My  wife  is  wont  to  say, 
with  a  smile  in  her  dark  eyes,  that  our  prosperity  is  due 
to  the  restored  virtue  of  the  Pearl-shell  Necklace,  which 
still  rests  upon  her  bosom.  To  me,  however,  the  neck 
lace  seems  but  as  the  symbol  of  the  true  love  whose  radi 
ance  has  blessed  our  lives,  and  brought  us  better  luck 
than  any  witchcraft  can  bestow. 


THE    END. 


ICO 

ARCHIBALD     MALMAISON. 

A  New  Novel.    By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE.    Price,  paper,  15   cts.;  cloth,  extra 
paper,  75  cents. 


INDEPENDENT,  N.  Y.  "  Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne  can  choose  no  better  com 
pliment  upon  his  new  romance,  '  ARCHIBALD  MALMAISON ,'  than  the  assurance 
that  he  has  at  last  put  lorth  a  story  which  reads  as  if  the  manuscript,  written 
in  his  father's  indecipherable  handwriting  and  signed  'Nathaniel  Haw 
thorne,'  had  lain  shut  into  desk  for  twenty-five  years,  to  be  oniy  just  new- 
pulled  out  and  printed.  It  is  a  masterful  romance  ;  short,  compressed,  terri 
bly  dramatic  in  its  important  situations,  bcised  upon  a  psychologic  idea  as 
weirl  and  susceptible  of  startling  treatment  as  possible.  It  u- a  book  to  be 
read  through  in  two  hours,  but  to  dwell  in  the  memory  forever.  It  so  cleverly 
surpasses  '  Garth*  or  'Bressant  in  its  sympathy  with  the  style  of  the  elder 
Hawthorne  that  it  must  remain  unique  among  Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne's  works 
— until  he  exceeds  it.  The  employment  of  the  central  theme  and  the  literary 
conduct  of  the  plot  is  nearly  beyond  criticism.  The  frightful  climax  breaks 
upon  the  perception  of  the  reader  with  surprise  that  he  did  not  foresee  it  ; 
another  tribute  on  his  part  to  the  unconventionality  which  is  one  of  the  many 
touches  of  eminent  art  in  Mr.  Hawthorne's  tale." 

R.  H.  STODDARD,  IN  NEW  YORK  MAIL  AND  EXPRESS.  "The  cli 
max  is  so  terrible,  as  the  London  Times  h..s  pointed  out,  and  so  dramatic  in 
its  intensity,  that  it  is  impossible  to  class  it  with  any  situation  of  modern  fic 
tion.  .  .  Mr.  Hawthorne  is  cleaily  and  easily  the  first  of  living  romancers." 

THE  CONTINENT,  N.  Y.  "The  most  noteworthy  story  Mr.  Julian  Haw 
thorne  has  ever  produced.  .  .  No  wilder  romance  has  ever  been  imagined. 
•  .  A  brilliant  and  intensely  powerful  work.  .  .  It  is  certain  that  such 
power  sets  the  author  at  the  head  of  modern  romancers.'' 

THE  LONDON  TIMES.  "  After  perusal  of  this  weird,  fantastic  tale  (Arch> 
bald  Malmaison),  it  must  be  admitted  that  upon  the  shoulders  of  Julian 
Hawthorne  has  descended  in  no  small  degree  the  mantle  of  his  more  illustri 
ous  father.  The  climax  is  so  terrible,  and  so  dramatic  in  iis  intensity,  that  it 
is  impossible  to  class  it  with  any  situation  of  modern  fiction.  There  is  much 
psycho'ogical  ingenuity  shown  in  some  of  the  more  subtle  touches  that  lend 
an  air  of  reality  to  this  wild  romance." 

THE  LONDON  GLOBE.  "  'Archibald  Malmaison,'  is  one  of  the  most  daring 
attempts  to  set  the  wildest  fancy  masquerading  in  the  cloak  of  science,  which 
has  ever,  perhaps,  been  made.  Mr.  Hawthorne  has  managed  to  combine  the 
almost  perfect  construction  of  a  typical  French  novelist,  with  a  more  than 
typically  German  power  of  conception.  Genius  is  here  of  a  kind  more  artistic 
ally  self-governed  than  Hoffman's,  and  less  obviously  self-conscious  than 
Poe's.  A  strange  sort  of  jesting  humor  gives  piquancy  to  its  grimne.-s." 

THE  ACADEMY.  "  Mr.  Hawthorne  has  a  more  powerful  imagination  than 
any  contemporary  writer  of  fiction.  He  has  the  very  uncommon  gilt  of  taking 
hold  of  the  reader's  attention  at  once,  and  the  still  more  uncommon  gift  of 
maintaining  his  grasp  when  it  is  fixed." 


THE    PEARL-SHELL   NECKLACE.— PRINCE   SA- 

KONrs  WIFE. 

Two  Novels.  By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE,  one  volume,  izmo,  paper,  15  cents; 
cloth,  extra  paper,  75  cents.  [In  press.] 

CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  "The  'Pearl-Shell  Necklace  '  is  a  story  of 
permanent  value,  and  stands  quite  alone  for  subtle  blending  of  individual  and 
general  human  interest,  poetic  and  psychologic  suggestion,  and  rare  hurnor." 

SPECTATOR.  "  '  The  Pearl-Shell  Necklace'  wherever  found,  v/ould  stamp 
its  author  as  a  man  of  genius.  Even  the  elder  Hawthorne  never  produced 
more  weird  effects  within  any'hing  like  the  same  compass.  And  yet  there  is 
absolutely  no  imitation." 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS,  Publishers,  10  &  12  Dey  St.,  New  York. 


1G7 
HIMSELF    AGAIN. 

A   New  Novel.       By  J.  C.  GOLDSMITH,       12010,   paper,   25-013.;    ck>th,  extra 
paper,  $1.00. 


COMMENTS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

THE  BOSTON  GLOBE.  "  Its  peculiar  qualities  are  its  delineation  of  eccen 
tric  character  which  is  notabiy  free  and  bold,  and  its  familiarity  with  many 
kinds  of  present  American  life  and  manners,  and  its  original,  realistic  treat 
ment.  .  .  Beneath  the  sprightly  dash  with  which  the  story  is  outlined  and 
filled,  there  is  conscioas  strong  power.  It  is  finely  written,  and  of  decided 
merit." 

THE  EVENING  POST,  HARTFORD.  "  Unlike  most  novels,  the  first  chap 
ters  of  this  remarkable  story  are  the  weakest.  But  let  the  reader  persevere  and 
he  will  find  opened  to  him  a  wonderful  world  of  novel  and  interesting  charac 
ters,  a  valuab  e  and  unique  philosophy,  and  an  almost  unsurpassed  background 
of  American  city  and  country  scenery,  both  land  and  water." 

BOSTON  ADVERTISER.  «« The  writer  displays  more  than  average  insight 
into  the  workings  of  human  nature,  and  the  naturalness  of  his  character  draw 
ing  is  no  doubt  the  secret  of  the  special  attiactioii  that  lies  in  the  boo*." 

CLEVELAND  LEADER.  "  This  is  a  purely  American  novel.  .  .  and  one 
of  the  best  we  have  seen.  It  is  so  vivid  in  its  description  of  localities  and 
personages,  that  the  reader  hardly  doubts  that  all  is  real.  And  in  accom 
plishing  this  the  author  achieves  a  kind  of  charm  that  is  as  delightful  as  it  is 
hard  to  define." 


RUTHERFORD. 

A  New  Novel.    By  EDGAR  FAWCETT.  Author  cf  "An  Ambitious  Woman," 

"A  Gentleman  of Leisure,"  "A  Hopeless  Case,"  "  Tinkling  Cy>nbcus," 

etc.   i2mo,  paper,  25  cts;  cloth,  extra  paper,  gi.oo. 

MR.  FAWCETT  has  of  late  been  steadily  and  rapidly  advancing  toward  the 
foremost  place  among  American  novelists,  He  deals  with  ph  .ses  of  society 
that  require  the  utmost  skill ;  but  his  quick  insight  into  character,  his  ready 
sympathies,  and  his  conscientious  Iit-erary  art,  have  proved  more  than  equal  to 
the  tables  he  has  undertaken.  It  is  certain  that  many  of  the  best  critics  are 
watching  his  course  with  high  anticipations.  In  'Rutherford,  his  lateft 
work,  neither  they  nor  the  public  will  be  disappointed.  It  is  a  novel  of  New 
York  society,  and  rarely  has  character  been  portrayed  with  more  de'icate  but 
effective  touches  than  in  the  case  of  some  of  these  representatives  of  Knicker» 
bocker  caste.  The  story  is  by  no  means  confined  to  them  however,  but  is  en 
riched  to  a  very  great  degree  by  characters  taken  from  lower  social  planes. 
Nothing  the  author  has  ever  done,  perhaps,  surpasses  his  characterization  of 
'  Pansy  '  one  of  the  two  sisters  who  have  fallen  from  affluence  to  poverty. 
Through  them  he  arouses  the  deepest  sympathies,  and  shows  a  dramatic 
power  that  is  full  of  promise.  It  is  needless,  of  course,  to  commend  the  liter 
ary  finish  of  Mr.  Fawcett's  style.  It  is  fast  approaching  perfection. 

FUNK  &  WAGNALLS,  Publishers,  10  &  12  Dey  St.,  New  York. 


103 
THE  FORTUNES  OF  RACHEL. 

A  New  Novel.    By  EDWARD  EVERETT  HALE.    12010,  paper,  250.;  cloth, 


CHRISTIAN  UNION  N.  Y  '  Probably  no  American  h:  s  a  mere  devoted 
constituency  of  readers  than  Mr  Edward  Everett  Hale,  and  to  all  ihese  his 
latest  stoiy,"'  The  Fortunes  of  Rachel,  will  bring  genuine  pleasure.  Mr.  Hale 
is  emphatically  a  natural  writer;  he  loves  to  interpret  common  things  and  to 
deal  with  average  persons.  He  does  t!iis  with  such  insight,  with  such  noble 
conception  of  life  and  of  his  work,  that  he  discovers  that  profound  interest 
which  belongs  to  the  humblest  as  truly  as  to  the  most  brilliant  forms  of  life. 
.  .  This  story,  is  a  thoroughly  American  novel,  full  of  incident,  rich  in 

strong  traits  of  character,  and  full  of  stimulating  thought;  it  is  wholesome  and 
elevating." 

BOSTON  JOURNAL.  "  The  virtue  of  the  book  is  the  healthful,  encouraging, 
kindly  spirit  which  pervades  it,  and  which  will  help  one  to  battle  with  adverse 
circumstances,  as,  indeed,  all  Mr.  Hale's  stories  have  helped." 

NEW  YORK  JOURNAL  OF  COMMERCE.  "A  purely  American  story, 
original  all  through,  and  Rachel  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  and  most  satisfactory 
ofheromes.  She  is  a  girl  of  the  soil,  unspoiled  by  foreign  travels  and  con 
ventionalities.  After  surfeiting  on  romances  whose  scenes  are  laid  abroad,  it 
is  delightful  to  come  across  a  healthy  home  product  like  this." 

BOSTON  GLOBE.  "  Every  one  knows  that  Mr.  Hale  is  the  prince  of  story 
tellers." 


MUMU,  AND  THE  DIAR  Y  OF  A  SUPERFLUOUS  MAN. 

Two  powerful  novels  descriptive  of  serf  and  upper-class  life  in  Russia. 

By  IVAN  TURGENIEFF.     i2mo,  paper,  150.;  cloth,  extra  paper,  750. 

N.  Y.  TRIBUNE.  "  His  characters  are  vital;  they  suffer  with  a  pathos  that 
irresistibly  touches  the  reader  to  sympathy.  Those  who  would  write  in  the 
same  vein  get  merely  his  admirable  manner,  full  of  reserve,  of  self-restraint, 
of  joyless  patience;  but  while  under  this  surface  with  Turgemeffhe  throbbing 
arteries  and  quivering  flesh,  his  imitators  offer  us  nothing  more  than  lay  figures 
in  whose  fortunes  it  is  impossible  to  take  any  lively  interest.  "I  hey  represent 
before  us  only  poor  phases  of  modern  society,  while  Turgenieif  has  explained 
to  us  a  nation  ard  shown  the  play  of  emotions  that  are  as  old  as  the  world  and 
as  new  as  the  hour  in  which  they  are  born." 

LITERARY  WORLD,  Boston.  "'These  two  stories  .  .  are  unquestion 
ably  to  be  ranked  among  their  author's  masterpieces.  .  .  'Mumu'  will 
bear  a  great  amount  of  study  ;  it  marks  out  a  whole  method  in  fiction." 

THE  MANHATTAN.  "One  of  the  most  powerful  and  touching  pictures  of 
slave-Ike  in  i.U  literature." 

LirPINCOTTS  MAGAZINE,  Phila.  "There  are  some  half  dozen  of  Tur- 
genieffs  short  stories  absolutely  perfect  each  in  its  way,  but  none,  perhaps, 
quite  so  exquisitely  as  Mumu  '  shows  the  great  artist's  power  to  transfigure  to 
our  eyes  the  tenderness,  passion,  aconies,  which  lie  beyond  speech  and  almost 
beyond  sign,  m  the  silent  heart  of  a  strong,  simple  man." 

CRITIC  AND  GOOD  LITERATURE,  N.  Y.  "  How  little  material  genius 
requires  for  making  a  '  good  thinu'.'  Turgenieffs  '  Mumu '  is  only  the  sketch 
ol  a  deaf  mute  and  a  dog,  but  how  beautifully  told  I  There  are  touches  of 
infinite  gentleness  as  well  as  of  skill." 

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1.  John  Ploughman's  Talk.  C.  II 
Spurgeon.  On  Choice  of  Books 
Thomas  Carlyle.  4to.  Both... 


2.  Manliness    of    Christ.      Thomas 
Hughes.    4to 

3.  Essays.     Lord  Macaulay.    4to.. 

4.  Lurhtof  Asia.  Edwin  Arnold.  4to. 

5.  Imitation  of  Christ.    Thomas  a 
Kempis.    4to 

6-7.  Life  of  Christ.    Canon  Farrar. 

4to 

8.  Essays.    Thomas  Carlyle.    4to.. 

9-10.  Life  and  Work  of  St.   Paul. 

Canon  Farrar.    4to    2  parts,  both 

11.  Self-Culture.    Prof.  J.  S.  Blackie. 

4to.    2  parts,  both 

12-19.  Popular  History  of  England. 

Chas.  Knight.    4to 

20-21.  Raskin's  Letters  to  Workmen 
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22.  Idyls  of  the  King.    Alfred  Tenny 
son.    4to 

23.  Life  of  Rowland  Hill.    Rev.  V.  J. 
Charlesworth.    4to 

24.  Town  Geology.    Charles  Kings- 
ley.    4to 

25.  Alfred  the  Great.    Thos.  Hughes. 
4to 

2li.  Outdoor  Life  in  Europe.  Rev.  E.!/ 
P.  Thwing.  4to 

27.  Calamities  of  Authors.    I.  D'ls- 
racli.    4to 

28.  Salon  of  Madame  Necker.    Part  I. 
4io 

2'J.  Ethics  of  the  Dust.   JohnRuskin. 

4to 

20-31.  Memories  of  My  Exile.  Louis 

Kossnth.  4to 

32.  Mister  Horn  and  His  Friends. 

Illustrated.  4to 

8'5-34.  Orations  of  Demosthenes.  4to. 
.'jo.  Frondes  Agrestes.  John  Rus- 

kin.  4to 

3(J.  .Joan  of  Arc.  Alphonse  de  La- 

martine.  4to 

37.  Thoughts  of  M.  Aurelius  Anto 
ninus.  4to 

IS.  S  ilon  of  Madame  Necker.  Part 

II.  4to 

30.  The  Hermit*.  Chas.  Kingeley.  4to. 
4(i.  John  Ploughman's  Pictures.  C. 

H.  Spnrsrcon.    4to 

41.  Pulpit  Table-Talk.    Dean  Ram- 
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42.  Bihlpi    and    Newspaper.      C.    H. 
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43.  Lacon.    Rev.  C.  C.  Colton.    4to. 


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47.  John  Calvin.    M.  Guizot.    4to...        15 
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51-52.  Godot's  Commentary  on  Luke. 
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63.  The  Persian  Queen   and  Other 
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64.  Salon  of  Madame  Necker.     Part 

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65-66.  The  Popular  History  of  Eng 
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67.  Ingersoll  Answered.  Joseph  Par 
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68-69.  Studies  in  Mark.  D.  C. 

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73.  New  Testament  Helps.    Rev.  W. 

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